Lionsnake Chronicles I: Harry and the Viper's Chess
by Eria
Summary: AU-ish. Harry rebels against two particular traits expected of a Slytherin, that of unwavering House loyalty and self-serving ambition. As he experiences life as a student of Hogwarts, he learns that, while some of his housemates are not who they merely appear to be, others are precisely the sort of person they present. The chess board is set... How will Harry play the game?
1. The Slytherin Code of Etiquette

_**Author's Notes:** Hello all. I've never written for the Harry Potter fandom before. When the Harry Potter saga came out in both book and movie form I resisted it because I'm stubborn like that. Now, I've read all seven books and watched all eight movies and absorbed pretty much everything I can about the Harry Potter world. That's usually how my obsessions go. I strive for canon accuracy, but have fused JK Rowling's conceptions on subjects not discussed in the books or movies from her numerous interviews. I also crossed book canon and movie canon, using artistic license to determine which version would show up in the fic (partly because of preference and partly because I wanted things to remain interesting for the reader). Where there's no author commentary, I followed where my muse directed.  
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_ I've read a lot of Slytherin!Harry fics, but they never answered the question of how simply being Sorted into Slytherin changed Harry intrinsically (I know, I shouldn't be looking seriously for this sort of thing in a fic). So back in mid-October of 2013, I posed the questions to my friends and family 'Hey, what would happen if Harry had been Sorted into the Slytherin House?' Though this was by no means a rigorously randomly sampled survey I was shocked to hear the majority of the time either variations on "He'd be evil and join forces with Voldemort [of course]." or "He'd usurp Voldemort's control and rule Britain with an iron grip." _

_So, this whole fic-bunny basically is my response to these statements, since J K Rowling herself said that she didn't see those of Slytherin as intrinsically evil. I did not write this fic to make a master's work 'better' or to pass off her writing as my own. Some characters necessarily are utterly the same, i.e. Dumbledore. Of all the characters, Dumbledore's treatment of Harry, particularly his directed dialogue to the Boy-Who-Lived, is essentially untouched from the Rowling's. This for me was simply a literary exercise of imagination (i.e. an excuse to write)._

_I fully admit that I have borrowed fanon ideas. Also that I was heavily inspired from innumerable HP fics (of every genre) I've read and by thought-provoking fanart conceptions. __Up to the beginning of this chapter, Rowling's book corresponded entirely with this loving work of fanfiction.  
_

_May you enjoy this adventure._

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"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult." The hat that was draped over his head kept Harry from seeing the hopeful faces of the students. "Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes—and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… So where shall I put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought. Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.

"Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that…"

Not Slytherin! Harry demanded.

"No? Can't be too sure about that—better be SLYTHERIN!" Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Slytherin table. He was painfully aware that only one table was screaming ecstatically. "We got Potter!" Somebody cried out in glee.

"Potter, with me!" Draco Malfoy waved him over, and since he was the only boy Harry recognized other than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry obliged him. The thickset Crabbe sat like a wall of flesh on the other side of Harry. There were calculating gazes all around him. "I thought for sure you were going to Gryffindor," Draco said unkindly.

Harry stared at the empty golden plate in front of him. It seemed ages ago that he'd eaten the pumpkin pasties on the train.

Professor McGonagall called others up to the stool and they were sorted into the other houses. Thomas, Dean. Turpin, Lisa. Weasley, Ronald. Zabini, Blaise.

None of the other names were placed in Slytherin.

The Hall was suddenly quiet, and Harry finally lifted his eyes from the plate. He could see the High Table properly now. At the end farthest from him sat Hagrid, who deliberately looked away when Harry finally caught his eye.

Harry blinked. Hagrid looked embarrassed for him. But now Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet in front of a large gold chair, beaming at the students. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd gotten from the Chocolate Frog on the train.

He shouldn't have thought of food again. His stomach ached in waiting.

Dumbledore's arms opened wide, as if nothing would have pleased him more than to see them all there. "Welcome!"

Draco leaned his head close to Harry's ear. "Old nitwit's about to give his yearly speech. I wish he'd hurry up. All of us are starving," Draco hissed towards Harry.

Harry grinned wanly.

"Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Cheers!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped, though the Slytherins around Harry did it out of the minutest amount of respect. The Gryffindors cheered the loudest. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not.

"Is he—a bit mad?" he asked Draco uncertainly.

"Mad?" Draco echoed oddly, looking distracted. "Oh, that's right you wouldn't know, would you? Growing up with Muggles." A disgusted look crossed Draco's face. "He's mad alright, but he's a bloody powerful wizard. My dad always said to respect power, even for a Muggle-lover like Dumbledore." The pale boy carefully chewed on a roll. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

Harry's mouth fell open. The centerpiece dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, bangers, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast taters, chips, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Dursleys had never exactly starved Harry, but he'd never been allowed to tuck in as much as he liked. Dudley had always taken anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made the boy sick.

Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and began to eat slowly. His tablemates were eating neatly, so he mimicked them and took his time, even when his stomach rumbled uncomfortably. It was all delicious.

A silvery-white gaunt ghost appeared over the table and hovered over the food. "It's the Bloody Baron!" Someone called out. Harry continued to eat, even when he saw how horrible the ghost looked.

"Davis," the blank-eyed ghost with robes stained with silver blood said to the second girl who'd been sorted to Slytherin. "Greengrass, Nott, Bulstrode, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Perks" the ghost greeted solemnly the Slytherin first years from above, "And to the thirty-second generation of Malfoys, I bid you welcome." Then his deadened eyes caught Harry's. "Well, well. In all of my days, I would have never thought a Potter would grace our vaulted House." The ghost floated to the floor. "Welcome, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Hullo," Harry said after taking a swallow of juice from the gold goblet. When the ghost moved on, Harry scooped more of the roast potatoes and roast beef onto his plate.

"Potter," Draco said stiffly. "How can you eat after seeing him?"

Harry shrugged. "How did he get covered in blood?"

"Oh, I heard that—" Gregory Goyle began.

Draco's face turned green. "I hardly think that's a topic to discuss for the dinner table, Goyle," he retorted rigidly.

Gregory's teeth clicked audibly.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the Slytherins would eat a peppermint humbug. Harry did too only so he didn't look out of place. Peppermint wasn't his favorite flavor, but he rolled it around in his mouth anyway. While they sucked on that, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding…

As Harry helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

"My parents are pure-blood," Vincent Crabbe bragged.

"You idiot, everyone knows there's elf in your line. Filthy creatures, elves," Draco commented sharply. The others laughed.

Vincent shrugged his shoulders.

Harry didn't see what was wrong with that, but he wasn't about to argue at a table full of bullies.

"It's not as bad as dwarf and goblin," an older male student across from Harry said. He had blond hair much darker than Draco's, but that was all Harry could see of him with the piles of desserts blocking his view.

"My family has purest of the pure," Draco boasted. "I'm a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin."

Harry said nothing, but the others sounded impressed.

"Might you be the Heir of Slytherin?" Tracey Davis, a brunette, asked on the other side of Gregory.

"I'm no Parselmouth," Draco said with a resigned sigh. "A snake-talker," he said to Harry's blank face.

"Is that rare?" Harry inquired trying not to sound overly curious.

The students around Harry stilled.

"Are you implying that someone like you could be a Parselmouth?" An acidic tone mocked and brown eyes flashed dangerously from an older female student. Harry couldn't quite make out the name under her Slytherin badge, though she had a metallic green badge next to it that had a silver snake wrapped slightly around a 'P' on it. Harry wished they'd introduced themselves. He hardly thought it was fair. There had to be about fifty people at this table.

Soon the talk about upcoming lessons farther down the table stopped. When several calculating eyes turned to him, Harry tried not to look as flustered as he felt. "I didn't suggest anything!"

"Well, can you or can't you, Potter?" Draco asked.

"I only did it once," Harry admitted resentfully. "It was a Brazilian boa constrictor at a snake exhibit. It'd never been to Brazil, you see, since it'd been bred at the zoo."

"An exhibit for snakes? Why would anyone do that?" Draco asked airily.

"It was an exhibit with other animals, too. Haven't you ever been to a zoo?" Harry shot back.

"A zoo? That must be some kind of Muggle entertainment," Draco said snobbily. "No wonder they'd keep intelligent creatures like snakes on exhibit."

Harry resisted the urge to punch Draco when he reminded him of many bullies from his primary school life. Feeling quite warm from the large meal, Harry ate a spoonful of ice cream to settle his stomach. He knew he couldn't afford to let himself feel sleepy to relax; he didn't trust his housemates.

When Harry didn't respond, Draco continued to blather on to whoever would listen about his ancestor's accomplishments in his—apparently typical—airy and condescending tone. Harry tuned him out.

While Draco discussed his family's long-winded list of ancestral accomplishments, Harry looked up at the High Table again, not daring to look in Hagrid's direction. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. On the right side of them, Professor Quirrell, in his absurd purple turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes—and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead, something which had never happened before.

"Ouch!" Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"What's the matter with you?" Draco asked shrewdly, hating to be interrupted.

"N-nothing." The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the feeling Harry had gotten from the teacher's look—a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.

"If it's nothing, then why were you carrying on? It's not your scar is it?" Draco peered closely at Harry's forehead. "It looks puffier than it did earlier," he observed neutrally.

"It's nothing," Harry said quickly. "Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" He nodded his head towards the table.

"You know Quirrell, but don't recognize our Head of House? Potter, we've really got to work on that before people confuse you for a Muggle-born wizard."

Harry still didn't understand, and he was tired of his ignorance showing. He assumed that the Head of House was an important position.

"Professor Snape teaches Potions. Of course, he'd rather be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. If Quirrell hadn't shown up, Professor Snape would already have the position."

Draco grinned to himself. "Professor McGonagall teaches Transfigurations and is Gryffindor's Head of House. Professor Flitwick, that gnome of a man, teaches Charms and is Ravenclaw's Head of House. Next to the Gamekeeper is Madam Hooch. She'll teach us first years the basics of broomstick flying—not that I need it. Otherwise, she referees Hogwarts' Quidditch Games. Madam Pomfrey's the school's Healer. If you're hurt or sick, she'll patch you up no questions asked. And then there's Professor Sprout, the Hufflepuff's Head of House. She'll teach us all sorts of boring things about magical plants and fungi in Herbology class. Professor Sinistra teaches Astronomy…" Draco trailed off giving a look of pity at the overwhelmed expression on Harry's face. "The other teachers aren't important to know since we don't have classes with them until our third year."

"Thanks." Harry had no idea what Transfigurations and Charms were about and had only a small inkling of what Potions, Quidditch, and Herbology entailed. What interested him most was the chance to learn how to fly on a broom.

Harry watched Professor Snape for a while, but the professor didn't look directly at him again though his dark eyes passed over the Slytherin table several times.

At last, the desserts had disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem—just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you…"

"Give it a rest, old coot," Draco murmured derisively. Harry flicked his eyes at him with a frown.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Gryffindor table.

"Those Gryffindorks don't know how to stay out of trouble," Draco whispered. Harry looked over at them, easily picking out the red-haired heads of the Weasleys.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors… Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."

"Too bad first years can't join," came Draco's dry remark.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year; the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the very few who did.

"He's not serious?" Harry muttered to Draco.

"He may be mad," the blond-haired student across from him answered, "But there's no doubt his warning is serious."

"But usually, he gives us a reason," a different girl with one of those 'P' badges added nicely. She had long black hair and brown eyes. "It makes you wonder what they're keeping there that's so important that they wouldn't have notified the prefects ahead of time."

Harry blinked. It couldn't be that grubby little package that Hagrid had taken from the vault seven hundred thirteen in Gringotts?

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

Much to his dismay, the Slytherins—even Draco—began to sing the same song, twisting the words to sound more sinister with a frenetic speed. Harry didn't know the tune at all, but decided to move his mouth to the words, guessing.

The Slytherins finished first, followed by the rest of the school, until only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped the loudest.

None of the Slytherins did.

"Ah, music," the headmaster said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

"First years, with us," the older student across from Harry stood and waited. Now, Harry could see the metallic green-and-silver badge on his breast beneath the Slytherin crest that every upper year Slytherin had stitched to their robes. Despite his short stature, the older student seemed to tower even over Crabbe and Goyle with his flat stare. "Everyone assembled? Good."

The rest of the Slytherins emptied out of the room, leaving only two Slytherins with 'P' badges in front of them. "My name is Gilbert van Tellwyenth, a fifth year. I am a prefect."

"I'm Samantha Pitts, a sixth year," the student who'd mocked Harry said. "Also, a prefect."

Harry looked around and saw there were precisely nine other first years standing around him: Four other boys and five girls.

"File up!" Gilbert the Prefect ordered.

The first years immediately stood in two queues, leaving Harry standing alone among their snickers. He quickly stood behind Draco at the end of the boys' queue.

The prefects then went down the line tapping their wand against each first year's tie and left front part and inner hood of the robes. Harry was amazed that his tie had changed into a twisted combination of green and silver and that a Slytherin crest magically appeared on the blank area of his robes.

While Harry inspected the green silk of the hood where black had been before, Samantha the Prefect said, "Very good then. This way!"

"Come on then. Don't fall behind," Gilbert said gently behind him, quietly enough that the others couldn't hear over the sound of their own voices.

Flustered and tired, Harry dropped his robes and followed. Samantha led them down a hall and then down a marble staircase, while Gilbert walked behind Harry.

Harry's legs felt like lead, but he was quite thankful that he was full of food. He hardly cared that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Samantha led them through doorways hidden behind sliding stonework and hanging tapestries.

Long minutes passed as they walked down ever more staircases, remaining in formation, and Harry was just wondering how much farther they had to go when they came to a sudden halt. It was far too chilly now.

"Welcome to the dungeons," the Bloody Baron intoned solemnly. He slipped through the granite stone wall, where a large portrait sat.

"Well?" The very thin woman dressed in emerald green bit out sourly.

"Bezoar," Samantha said crisply.

"Enter." The portrait swung open revealing a narrow corridor, leading into a well-lit, long underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, silver lamps were hanging from chains.

They shuffled down the stairs. It was much warmer inside the room, which was decked in silver and emerald banners to liven up the grey walls. There were nooks and crannies and different levels to the room that made it look larger than it was. Harry didn't see any windows yet, but when he looked up there were dark arches of glass much like sunroofs Harry had seen once before in an enclosed shopping district.

"Welcome, first years," came a nasal tone. It was the Slytherin Head of House.

Behind Professor Snape stood scores of older Slytherins, who stared coolly at Harry and the others. "Forget your allegiances to anyone outside of your house. They will no longer trust you due to our house's illustrious history in researching the now-forbidden Dark Arts," the Head of House said, looking particularly at Harry.

Harry looked back defiantly.

Professor Snape raised a thin eyebrow, but showed no sign of screaming at him like Vernon Dursley. "We have won the Quidditch and the House Cup for six years in a row. Do not disappoint me this year," their Head of House ground out. "Prefects, instruct our newest students as to the proper protocols and etiquette we Slytherins follow. I must not be disturbed this evening."

The professor spun on a heel, his black robes flaring out dramatically, and stalked out of the room. With a slam of a door down the short hall off the room, the older students broke away, separating by gender to a staircase on either side of them: The girls on the left and the boys on the right.

Harry really would have preferred to sleep right then rather than to listen to another lecture.

"Hello, I'm Gemma Farley, a fifth year," the black-haired student, who'd complained about not being told about the restricted third-floor corridor, said.

"I'm Nicolas Grimmet, a sixth year." He was lanky and had brown eyes and long brick-brown hair. "We are only four of the Slytherin prefects. There's also seventh years Yatin Shah and Viviette Tourens." He then raised his hands, gesturing to their surroundings. "We welcome you to our common room."

A tired Harry glanced around. The furniture was spread out with tables between them, and now that he was farther inside he could see dark arches of windows.

Prefect Samantha said, "For your general notice: We have mandatory dining together at all three meals. Every first year is expected to attend the monthly dueling sessions of their upperclassmen, unless they are serving detention or have had their privileges revoked."

Prefect Nicolas's words followed hers, "The Code of Etiquette is as follows: It is expected that you are courteous to your housemates regardless of bloodline or magical ability. Until you have permission, refer to your housemates by their family name. We travel in groups, never alone. Do not fraternize with students in other houses, unless you must, such as in class. Finally, it is expected that you are polite to your professors, no matter how inept they are. Losing House points is not acceptable for any reason. You may keep tally of our score and compare it to the other houses by looking at the hourglass filled with emeralds in the Great Hall."

When Nicolas paused, a casual Gilbert continued from where he leaned against a column, "You will be granted privileges should you earn House points. Should you lose them, you will receive detention from Professor Snape and a letter of notice to whoever is responsible for you… in addition to whatever other consequences the other reprimanding teacher assigns. If you don't respect us or you break the Slytherin Code of Etiquette, you will earn a detention with Professor Snape. Get three detentions assigned in a given month and you will have lost the observation privileges of that month's dueling session."

"Furthermore," Prefect Gemma added, "Every Hogwarts' House has six prefects, and then there's the Head Boy and Head Girl. Any one of them can deduct House points should you be caught using magic inappropriately, harassing others, or traversing the corridors after bed. As Prefect Tellwyenth just stated, Professor Snape will assign detention if you are caught; my advice is not to do it even if it's warranted."

Harry looked at the sleepy faces of his year-mates and saw that only Malfoy's expression disagreed entirely with Prefect Gemma's advice.

"Finally," Prefect Samantha said sternly, "If for some reason, you are unavailable to have additional detentions because you have earned so many, Professor Snape will then assign independent study, which is really just a fancy term for more detention, during any free or study periods you have during the school day. You will essentially have zero time to pursue your interests or homework without supervision. I sincerely recommend that you avoid this situation. Speaking from my own experience, having Professor Snape personally organize every hour of your day is exhausting and counter-productive to having a pleasant school year. Follow the Code and the school rules and you shouldn't have any problems."

"Do you have any questions?" Prefect Gemma asked kindly.

Harry was too tired to ask any, and it seemed none of the other first years wanted to prolong staying awake.

"Girls with us!" Prefect Samantha barked out. Parkinson and the other Slytherin girls were escorted up the left stairwell with Prefect Gemma.

Gilbert stepped closer to the group. "Everyone else with Nicolas and me," he said and then led Harry and the other Slytherin boys up the stairs. Green, murky light spilled from the torches lining the spiral staircase. Every time the steps leveled off, there was a black door with a silver snake knocker on them denoting a different year's dormitory.

"The more years you spend at Hogwarts, the closer to the common room you get," Nicholas explained. "There are five students per room. If you have any problems with your roommates that you can't sort out on your own, you are to come to me. If I'm unavailable, you can talk to Gilbert, Yatin, or the Head Boy Phyllis Whitehead. The last two are seventh years. Do not bother Professor Snape, unless it is a dire emergency."

"Why only male prefects?" Theodore Nott, a stringy boy with cropped, dirty-blond hair, asked.

"These steps will transform into a slide the instant a girl tries to walk on them," Gilbert answered sounding amused, "The same holds true for the girls' dormitory; we can't step foot there without being physically ejected."

As they continued to climb, Harry's eyelids were drooping. He tripped on a step, catching himself on the cool stone wall next to him. He was happy no one had seen him. A minute or so later, it was with collective relief that the first year boys finally made it to the very top of the stairs. The heavy black door was opened by Gilbert.

Five poster-beds were hung with deep green, silk curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up. Hedwig wasn't in her cage, but Harry didn't worry much about that.

Sconces of green magical fire lit the room with a viridian tinge, and there were curtains pulled back from dark windows. There were medieval tapestries adorning the room, depicting adventurous wizards and witches doing an assortment of odd things.

"I hope you're all early risers," Gilbert said, pointing at the grandfather clock sitting across from the door. "That's been enchanted to scream if you oversleep for breakfast. Any last questions?"

"No, I think we're all very well ready for bed," Draco bit out snidely.

Gilbert's lips quirked in amusement. "Good night, first years. Pleasant dreaming." The two prefects exited, shutting the door behind them.

Walking to his bed—well, the bed where his trunk sat nearest, Harry looked out the window at the lake glistening under the moon. It was a very beautiful, exotic sight after the mediocre landscape of Privet Drive.

"Potter, stop gaping like an idiot and get changed so we can put out the lights." Draco's voice sounded narked.

Harry quickly tore off his robes and changed into his jim-jams, one of Dudley's softer cast-offs, and slipped into the very comfortable bed. The bedspread was green velvet and embroidered with silver thread.

Draco whispered, "Nox." The lights went out, leaving only the moonlight streaming through the windows.

Despite his suspicion of the other boys' attempts to prank him, Harry drifted off to sleep right away.

Perhaps he was too pogged from dinner, but he had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban—which kept congratulating him on his most auspicious sorting into Slytherin and somehow this made it Harry's destiny to join the turban in its quest. When Harry told the turban that he didn't want to be in Slytherin, it got heavier and heavier. He tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully—and there was Malfoy, laughing at him as he struggled with it—then Malfoy turned into Professor Snape, whose laugh was colder and more nasal—there was a burst of green light and Harry woke, sweating and shaking.

He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke the next day before true drawn came he wished he didn't remember the strange dream at all.


	2. The Savagery of Muggles

_**Author's Notes: **The reason why this fic is AU-ish, is because I like to think that the Sorting Hat is a Quantum Field Generator capable of seeing into other universes and making a choice based off of an infinite set of possibilities to the benefit of the child. Only its magical properties can be overturned by the wearer's deliberate choice of substitution. Simply denying oneself does not trigger the Sorting Hat to change its decision. _

_This chapter was perhaps the most difficult to write of this fic because of the psychology of an abuse victim.  
_

**_Warning: _**_Violence._

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Harry was already dressed in a clean set of black robes and sitting in the common room when the rest of Slytherin woke up. As the sun rose, the large, silver hanging lanterns dimmed and the entire common room took on a greenish hue. Harry wondered if the sunroof panels were tinted and looked up. That wasn't the case. The 'sunroof' was all that was separating Harry from gloomy, green water.

Shocked, he looked across another dark green leather couch facing him and saw that the dark window had given way to more green murk and there was an extremely pointed, scaly face peering at him through it framed by straggly, wormy hair. The figure didn't have legs. Instead, there was a decidedly fish-like tail.

Before he had a chance to react, the screaming clocks went off. It was really a horrendous noise, causing goosebumps to crawl all over Harry's arms. He was grateful that he'd woken up early. When he looked out the window again, the fish-like creature was gone.

At least he'd gotten the chance to see... whatever it was.

Once the shrill screaming had stopped, Harry went back to reading. He was fascinated by the different potions one could brew. The detailed pictures of a cauldron set-up reminded Harry a little of the set-up he'd seen on the front of Chemistry books. Harry had stopped trying to read when he didn't understand any of the examples or recognize any of the names mentioned.

"What're you doing up so bloody early?" Draco groused next to him.

Putting the book away in his schoolbag, Harry smiled when he opted to be polite. "I'm an early riser. Did you have trouble falling asleep?"

"Hardly. I'm used to being served food mid-morning," the pale boy said. Crabbe and Goyle looked equally exhausted. "Why're you wearing those? Why didn't you Freshen up the ones you barely wore yesterday?"

Harry looked down at his unmarked robes. "Why not?"

There came a snort and the blond leaned forward tapping his wand against Harry's tie and robes. As the prefects had done before, the inner hood and tie changed colors and a Slytherin patch appeared on the front. Harry fingered the snake emblem. "What's that called? What you just did, I mean."

Draco blinked at him stupidly and then breathed in a short giggle. "That was a spell of Transfiguration, Potter." He looked to Crabbe and then Goyle. They began to laugh as if Harry had made a joke.

"I didn't say anything funny," he said coldly.

"Obviously, you said that in jest. I simply humored you. Surely, it's impossible that the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn't have known that."

Feeling as dumb as he had in Madam Malkin's, Harry kept his mouth shut. He'd learn quickly about the types of magic in this first week of classes. For now, he didn't want someone like Malfoy telling everyone else how stupid Harry was.

Sharp grey eyes looked down at the Potions book in his hands. "Are you bringing your school books to breakfast?" Draco looked disdainfully at the burlap sack that had been fashioned into a school bag, but didn't say anything about its unsightliness.

"Why not? They're my books."

"Potter, there are things you can't learn about in a book," Draco said through a yawn. Harry just then remembered that he was supposed to be using surnames from the Code they'd been told about last night. "Besides, you're a Slytherin, not a Ravenclaw. Don't be so bookish."

"What terrible advice, Mr. Malfoy," Professor Snape murmured from behind them.

Harry violently startled. Where had the professor popped in from? He straightened his robes to hide the slight shake in his hands, reminded of the pain in his scar and the glare.

"Considering Mr. Potter's considerable disadvantage," and here the professor looked down his hook nose at Malfoy, "A certain amount of bookishness is essential to not fall behind…"

"Good morning, professor," Malfoy said sounding much more drained than before. "Surely you have a pick-me-up I can have…?"

Snape waved a careless hand, waving off the greeting as one would a fly. "Go ask Madam Pomfrey if you have need of a Wideye Potion."

Curiosity piqued, Harry looked at Malfoy.

"He's my godfather," Malfoy whispered loudly with deep pride.

"Oh." Harry didn't know what to say to that. He didn't have one of those.

"Don't sound so disappointed, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape said neutrally. "I never play favorites among my house."

Harry's cynicism showed on his face. After all, it was quite normal for adults to have one or two favorites. Surely Professor Snape would be no different.

Black eyes narrowed slightly and unwaveringly at Harry, like Uncle Vernon often did when he thought Harry was up-to-no-good.

Looking at his roommate, Harry forced himself to look bored instead. Some adults were very sensitive to doubt, and Harry did not want to make a bad impression.

"Potter, a godfather is kind of like an uncle, except not blood-related," Malfoy said matter-of-factly.

"Oh," Harry said, feeling a deep confusion. Vernon Dursley was Harry's not-blood-related uncle… did that make the porky man Harry's godfather? Harry had never thought of that before.

"What's the problem now?" Malfoy asked with exasperation. "Don't tell me you don't know what an uncle is?"

Harry exploded. "I should bleeding well know by now since I've been living with one for as long as I can remember! I'm not an idiot!"

Conversation in the common room stopped, and Harry itched not to be the center of attention. He shouldn't have done that. He was normally very invisible at the Dursleys—so long as Harry didn't do anything odd and didn't 'bother' his cousin Dudley.

This was certainly going to test whether Professor Snape's favorite was Draco Malfoy. Uncle Vernon normally punished Harry if he yelled at his cousin. "Sorry, Malfoy," Harry mumbled as he carefully cradled the straps of his schoolbag and looked at the floor.

"Don't apologize. I shouldn't have implied that you were an idiot," Malfoy said simply.

Harry looked at Malfoy, who stared back at him without anger. It was the kind of look one gave to something helplessly pathetic, like a hedgehog born without any spines. Harry's pride was ruffled to have it directed at him. He glared at Malfoy, who just then decided to inspect his fingernails.

The common room was filled with whispering. That was never a good sign. Harry was bound to be in trouble.

"Mr. Potter, might I have a word with you," Professor Snape's cold voice came from his left.

Harry's face grew pinched, but he obediently followed after his Head of House.

Professor Snape tapped Prefect Tellwyenth on the shoulder. "Come with me," Professor Snape told the prefect. The professor glanced at Harry once and then walked down the corridor adjoining the common room.

Harry grew anxious by the moment. He had no idea what constituted as punishment for a school of magic. At the Muggle public school, Harry had written lines, sat in a corner, was sent to the office, or sometimes was sent home. He hoped the latter wouldn't be the chosen method. He'd rather be a Slytherin than plain old Harry Potter the delinquent on Privet Drive.

"Hey, relax, Potter—May I call you Harry?" The prefect asked nicely.

Harry shrugged, clutching the book and schoolbag to his chest.

"You may call me Gilbert," the prefect said.

They went through a large dark-stained door and into an office-type room. Harry looked around at lines of bottles and glass jars filled with ghastly things and a multitude of shelves that very thick books lined. He noticed that there was only the one window behind Professor Snape's desk and that it looked over the craggy shore of a lake. Harry thought this was very peculiar since the office was at the same floor as the underwater common room. His brain was having difficulty sorting that out. There hadn't been any steps to take to enter the room.

The door shut behind him, reminding Harry that he was in trouble for yelling at Malfoy. Beside him, Gilbert murmured something that sounded nonsensical to Harry's ears. "Right then, let's have a seat, Harry."

"Am I in trouble?" Harry asked tightly as he took an entirely too comfortable armchair across from the prefect. He glanced over to see that Professor Snape hadn't moved after taking a journal-sized book from the shelf.

"Not at all. Tempers tend to get frayed in the first week at Hogwarts," Gilbert said reassuringly.

"Then why?" Unthreatened by the prefect, Harry looked at the thoughtful frown on the face of their Head of House. He didn't appear to be angry…

"Professor Snape usually interviews the first years within the first month of school. It's chance that you're the first one," came the prefect's clear, calm response.

What rotten luck, Harry thought. "But he doesn't like me."

Gilbert had a pronounced blink and looked over to Professor Snape who hadn't yet said a word since entering the office. The prefect turned back to Harry with a curious look. "What makes you say that?"

Surprised that someone would want to know why he thought that, Harry realized his reason would only sound silly. "It doesn't matter."

"Harry, you won't get in trouble. I swear you won't."

Harry grew more and more anxious the longer he sat there, and Professor Snape did nothing. "He glared at me," Harry finally told his hands, "At the banquet."

"To my err," Professor Snape said right beside him.

Surprised, Harry jumped in his seat and then glared at Professor Snape before remembering he really ought not to glare when he was already in trouble. He looked away and glanced up again hesitantly.

The professor gave a mildly curious look to him and moved silently to stand next to Gilbert.

"This is going to sound odd, Harry," Gilbert started slowly, "But have you ever been mistreated by your guardians?"

"Mistreated?" Harry parroted. "You mean, beaten? No, though they threaten to all the time." He frowned thoughtfully, "I suppose… my cousin Dudley can get rough…"

"I mean, mistreated like someone might mistreat a house-elf," Gilbert clarified, which didn't clarify anything at all.

"Like a what?"

"It is a magical creature tied to a family and home who serves that family with manual, domestic labor for life or until they are freed," Professor Snape said with some impatience. "Along with physical abuse, mistreatment includes neglecting a house-elf's basic needs and willfully ignoring the house-elf's presence unless it has done something to warrant punishment."

Harry's mouth went dry. He did the job of a house-elf for the Dursleys. "No, they haven't mistreated me," Harry lied with an assured tone and composed demeanor. He always lied about it. The Dursleys would deny anything even if he did tell the truth, and then Harry would be in trouble with them, something he avoided at all costs.

Professor Snape's face grew pinched with fury, his beady black eyes narrowing at Harry. Harry fidgeted in expectation, but the professor didn't say a word.

With a sympathetic expression, Gilbert sighed in disappointment. "Harry, you're a sloppy liar."

Harry's lips twitched into a confused frown as he tried to keep his face blank. The prefect was bluffing.

"Oh, your expression, tone, and body language are trained well-enough," Gilbert said with approval, which was rather strange to Harry. He was very sure lying was a bad thing warranting punishment, even if one happened to be telling the truth and no one believed it.

"I suppose..." Gilbert said quietly, "That since Muggles can't detect magic—let alone one's aura—you never bothered to learn to mask it."

A shudder rippled through Harry's leg. He bounced it agitatedly. "I thought we had to eat breakfast with everyone else," he said quietly. He had never been in this sort of situation before.

"We can summon food here," Gilbert assured him. "Are you hungry?"

The amount of anxiety Harry was feeling wouldn't allow him to avoid a stomachache. The way they were treating him was very queer. Were they setting him up to admit to lying so they could punish him? That made sense. It was an obvious trick and it wouldn't work on him. "I had a snack."

A book slammed against the large desk in the office, and Harry didn't seem able to stop the little gasp he let out.

Professor Snape's hand was perched on top of the book. "One more lie, Mr. Potter, and you will have detention with me for the next two weeks. Now," Professor Snape's tone was dark with a promise that Harry was all too familiar with. Harry would regret dearly if he disobeyed the coming command. "Describe their mistreatment. In detail."

Recalling the prefects' warnings of avoiding Professor Snape's ire, Harry balled up his sweaty fists and stared at his white knuckles in silence.

"Everything you say will be held in the strictest confidence, Harry. The Dursleys won't know you told us anything," Gilbert said soothingly.

A very tense silence followed. Could he… could he trust Gilbert's promise? There were so many times Harry had allowed hope to fester inside of him, and each time that feeling was taken from him. He'd decided the last time that he wouldn't try to fight his home situation by telling others about it. Yet, again the hope rose, like a beacon of safety in his fear. He didn't know why the feeling bothered to show. He hardly thought there would be any change. The words of his aunt and uncle would be taken for truth and Harry would be branded a liar. That was how the world worked. That was how it always worked.

"I… I didn't mean to suggest any wrongdoing on their parts," Harry said hesitantly. "And even if you wanted to do something, there aren't any laws against being ignored."

"It depends on the magnitude," Gilbert said. He reached a hand forward and slowly dropped it onto Harry's right fist as if Harry might jerk back. "You have my word that we'll believe whatever you share with us."

"Because I can't… because you can tell when I… when I lie?"

Gilbert nodded and squeezed Harry's hand and then pulled it away.

This would be the last time, the absolute last time that Harry would trust a stranger. "It's my place, my job, to do the housework. Uncle Vernon makes sure I worked for room and board… and I always did these odd things, like shrink clothes I hated or grow out my hair when it was too short and get punished for it." When Gilbert said nothing, Harry continued. "It wasn't until Hagrid showed up that I found out that all the…" Harry tightened his fists. His heart hammered in his chest. "That the odd things I'd do was magic." He took a breath. Harry knew he was babbling, but he couldn't just come out and say that sometimes the Dursleys didn't give him meals, that for most of his life he spent his time locked in a broom cupboard with no windows. "They knew what it really was, that magic existed. Uncle Vernon said that they'd spent the last ten years trying to stamp out my magic."

"How do you mean?" came Gilbert's aghast voice.

"I don't know exactly. They lied about how my mum and dad died and where I got my scar, and I was punished a lot but it never seemed to help me do odd things less."

"Accidental magic occurs when you feel most distraught," Gilbert stated. "Punishment only makes the outburst worse."

Harry nodded, thinking that made sense. This was the first time anybody believed him. He wondered if he might be dreaming.

"What about schooling? Your relatives at least sent you to school?"

Harry flushed. "Of course they sent me to school. They didn't want any authorities to snoop around the house and ask questions about me. School was okay as long as I didn't make better marks than Dudley and wasn't sent home for doing something… odd." His fingers flexed open and gripped his robes tightly. He ventured a look at other two wizards in the room.

Gilbert looked up at Professor Snape, who merely flicked his black eyes at the prefect before re-affixing them on Harry's face. Unnerved by their undivided attention, Harry looked down again.

"What did your guardians do when you performed accidental magic?" asked Professor Snape.

Harry had to bite his tongue to stop the lie that formed in his mind. He was already forewarned against lying. Memories of darkness and hopelessness tugged at him. Harry forcefully reminded himself that Uncle Vernon never whipped or beat him and that at least the prefect seemed sympathetic to Harry.

"Uncle Vernon yelled a lot and pushed me around. He locked me in a cupboard under the stairs, and when I asked for food Aunt Petunia wouldn't give me anything. If it was the weekend, they'd forget about me for a day or two until they needed something done." When Harry finished, he breathed out. It was as if a shameful burden he'd been forced to carry was lifted from him.

The prefect had a stricken look on his face, while Professor Snape appeared unaffected.

"They didn't forget me often, and the cupboard was my room. When they were out of the house, I was watched by an elderly neighbor," Harry reassured Gilbert. "And you shouldn't worry about that anyway. Because of the Hogwarts letters, Uncle Vernon moved me to Dudley's second bedroom—well, not that I got to stay there very long when the letters came flooding in during breakfast a few days later…" Harry remembered what happened with a bright grin. "Uncle Vernon wouldn't let me open any of the Hogwarts letters and so they kept sending loads and loads of them and then Uncle Vernon took us to an island in the middle of nowhere. I didn't care about the cold and the chill because I'd never been on an overnight trip before. I was excited even if I had to sleep on the floor, and that's when Hagrid found me. Well, not on the floor. I wasn't sure who was beating down the door so I hid myself. Anyway, he's the one who told me I was a wizard and took me shopping in Diagon Alley and gave Hedwig to me—that's my snowy white owl—as a birthday present. I've never had a proper birthday present before. Usually I get one of Dudley's torn or broken hand-me-downs… if they hadn't forgotten about the date." Gilbert's face had grown progressively more distressed. Harry wasn't sure why. "So, really, this whole magic thing is brilliant if it means I get to spend my time here. Everyone can do odd things like me."

"Professor?" The prefect said with a strange voice.

"Mr. Potter, you won't be going home for the Christmas holiday," their Head of House said smoothly.

Harry perked up. "I can stay at Hogwarts, sir?"

Professor Snape nodded with the barest trace of amusement. "We'll resume your interview this evening."

Harry's heart fell. "What else is there to talk about?"

Gilbert answered, "All that's left are general questions and aptitude tests. In our first year at Hogwarts, Professor Snape assigns extra work in areas that we need a bit of help in."

"Is it hard?" Harry was surprised that he was curious enough to ask. Normally he avoided needless school assignments.

"No, not right away at least. Personally, my geography and history knowledge were severely lacking when I first arrived at Hogwarts. That is no longer the case now that I've educated myself." Gilbert stood and offered a hand to Harry.

Standing up, Harry had never been offered a hand so patient before. He looked at it and then at Gilbert and then took it.

Gilbert grinned as they shook and then released Harry's hand. "You're a Slytherin, Harry. Trust that you're safe here with your brothers and sisters."

Harry was worried once again. "Y-you won't tell anyone, will you?"

"As he has stated earlier, everything you have told us will remain a secret, Mr. Potter." The professor's coal-black eyes appeared emotionless as he spoke.

Harry inferred that the man could be simply hiding his emotions. "Thank you, sir."

"This way, Harry." After muttering something else under his breath, Gilbert led Harry through the door and headed towards the stairwell where the dormitory was. "I'll be right back. I have to grab my books." The prefect ran up the stairs and within a few moments was back down. "Off to breakfast then!"

Outside the common room and down the main corridor there were a lot of stairs. Harry was thankful that he was in shape already.

Gilbert waved at other Slytherins who were returning from breakfast to collect their school books from their rooms.

The prefect navigated Harry through Hogwarts in silence, every now and then a student from a different house would point and say, "There. Look! Did you see his scar?"

Following Gilbert's lead, Harry ignored them. Soon they were in the Great Hall.

"Gill!"

"Wait a second," a smiling Gilbert told prefect Gemma Farley. "You alright from here?" He asked Harry.

Harry nodded. He took a seat at the long table beside Draco Malfoy.

"I saved you some pasties," Malfoy offered. "The dunderheads next to me kept trying to eat it."

Crabbe and Goyle elbowed each other and chuckled.

"Thanks, Malfoy." Very quickly both of Harry's hands were occupied. One shoveled food into his mouth and the other brought a goblet of pumpkin juice to his lips.

Malfoy smiled him. "I'd complain about how similar your manners are to a Gryffindork, but the first bell is about to sound."

After taking a long drink, Harry said, "Does it matter?"

"I suppose not if you were raised by Muggles."

Harry looked at him coldly.

"It was a joke, Potter."

"It wasn't a very funny one."

A distant bell tolled.

"We have Herbology first, which isn't so bad to get to." Malfoy picked up an expensive-looking schoolbag holding his blank scrolls, quills, and books for that day. "Hurry now. We'll lose House points if we're tardy."

Harry abandoned the crumb-riddled plate and slung his burlap schoolbag over his shoulder. Crabbe and Goyle moved on either side of Harry and Malfoy and they exited the Great Hall.

As they walked together, Harry noticed that other students would stare as they passed, whispering.

"Didn't I just see those two…?" Harry murmured as two black-haired girls walked past him.

"They probably doubled back around to get another look at you, the famous Harry Potter."

Harry felt bewildered. He'd never been popular at school before.

"For celebrities like us, it's to be expected. The novelty will wear off soon I'm sure," Malfoy quipped.

Soon, they were outside, crossing Hogwarts' immense lawn to the greenhouse.

The plump, dumpy Herbology professor turned to greet the Slytherins warmly. There were numerous odd-looking plants from leaf to root laid out on the greenhouse tables with whatever types of seeds each had, if any. Every one of them had a card propped up with a large letter.

Without calling roll, Professor Sprout immediately began the lesson, instructing each student to carefully match the name of the plant to the correct specimen. "You may work together to figure it out or use the One Thousand Magical Plans and Fungi reference text! Once you are done, turn in your scrolls and be on your way. Any questions? No? I'll be in the storeroom should anyone need me."

It was an introduction to the classification system Herbologists used. Reminded of Biology lessons, Harry immediately stepped up to a rubbery purple plant with white hairs all over it and curled leaves. Its roots were bulbous and it had a sharp acrid smell to it. Harry flipped the book open to a chart of characteristics.

"Wiseman's Sage," Draco answered contemptuously. Harry shot him an annoyed look and opened his book to the page about it. The illustration shifted in an invisible breeze and looked less wilted than the dead counterpart on the table. Harry began to read aloud.

"If the leaves of the Wiseman's Sage are eaten, it provides a temporary Pepper-Up remedy. The roots are a highly prized ingredient when harvested on a new moon and dried appropriately. Furthermore—"

"Potter, read on your own time. I'd like to get done with this lesson."

Harry closed the book, following Malfoy, and was likewise followed by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy easily listed off each of the plants laid out and pointed out their basic characteristics.

On their final plant, the blond looked back at Harry. "If we'd done it your way, we'd be here for the rest of the period."

"Oh, shove it, Malfoy. Some of us don't have Professor Snape as a godfather," brown-haired Pansy Parkinson sniped.

"Potter, may I look at your scroll?" Millicent Bulstrode asked politely. Her large size and stature were completely at odds with her manners.

"As long as you turn mine in when you're done with it," Harry handed it to her and she carefully unrolled it marking the remaining three plants she had missed. Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass were on either side of Millicent also taking down notes.

"What class do we have after this?" Harry asked at large while Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy continued to argue. Crabbe and Goyle were poking at the plants queued up along the walls, laughing at one another as the carnivorous ones snapped at their fingers. Theodore Nott was inspecting a plant that looked somewhat like a cactus.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," a lavender-bespectacled girl who was slightly taller than Harry answered. "Did you not get your schedule from Prefect Grimmet?"

"No. I must have missed him." Harry frowned. "I'm sorry. I seem to have forgotten your name."

"Sally-Anne Perks," she said quietly behind a fringe of light brown hair.

Being neither pretty or of solid frame, brown-eyed Sally-Anne didn't look like the rest of the Slytherin girls either, but Harry had little room to point fingers, since he was the shortest and smallest among the Slytherin boys.

"It's quite alright that you didn't see me. I'm practically invisible to most people," she said with a small smile.

"Oh, that sounds terrible," he said with a commiserating tone.

Her smile widened, revealing slightly crooked teeth.

"Come on, Potter." Draco gave Sally-Anne a patronizing look and then turned on his heel. "Crabbe! Goyle! Let's go!"

Soon they had passed over the Hogwarts lawns and back into the castle's cool exterior.

"You shouldn't associate yourself with Perks' type," Malfoy said loftily.

"Why not?"

"She's a Mudblood."

The term sounded foul to Harry's ears. He stared at Malfoy.

"There's not a drop of wizard blood in her. It's obscene for her to be in this house with her dirty blood."

"You mean she's a Muggle-born witch, don't you?" Harry said coldly.

"Can you believe it? A pure-blood deserved to be a Slytherin more than that filthy, little Mudblood. She'll sully Salazar Slytherin's good name!"

Angry, Harry grabbed the front of Malfoy's robes. "Stop badmouthing her! She didn't do anything to you!"

Malfoy sneered. "Oh, that's right. Your mother was a Mudblood too, wasn't she?"

"Don't call my mum that!"

When Malfoy smirked nastily, "I'll call a Half-Breed when I see one, savior of the Wizarding World or not."

Numerous memories of being teased and chased and struck by Dudley and his gang was reflected in everything Draco Malfoy was. Malfoy didn't care who was hurt so long as he was better than anyone else.

All the anger and stress of being Sorted wrong broke something in Harry. He lost his temper. His fist swung, and Malfoy went down with a cry. Harry followed after him with a wordless shout.

Crabbe grabbed Harry by his robes before he could hit Malfoy again and lifted him up as he flailed. Harry didn't like the grin on the larger boy's face. It reminded him far too much of Dudley before he did something nasty to Harry. Harry dropped his schoolbag from his shoulders, knowing that the odds were not in his favor.

Goyle converged on Harry, but Harry kicked Crabbe in the side and he was dropped. Crabbe howled. Harry flung himself at the taller Slytherin, his fists wailing. Goyle tried to land a hit and failed when Harry saw it coming. Harry bowled into his knees, and Goyle toppled over, bowling Crabbe into the ground.

"Ge'roff!" Crabbe yelled in panic, while Goyle grunted as Harry channeled his anger through his fists. A particularly hard slap to Harry's head knocked him away.

"Petrphtcus—" Malfoy's nasal yell was muffled through his bloodied nose. "Totalas!"

As Harry rolled off of Goyle, something red sparked out of Malfoy's wand and Harry ducked behind the hulking first years.

Crabbe cried out when he was struck and sprouted grey and blue boils. Harry stared at Crabbe in horror as no part of his pale skin was left untouched. Crabbe made a small whimpering noise.

"Shite!" Malfoy cursed.

Goyle grabbed Harry by the front of his robes and lifted him up. Harry glared at him unafraid.

"You twit! Put him down!" Malfoy said, favoring his nose.

Harry was set down fairly quickly.

Goyle hovered uncertainly over Crabbe after Malfoy stood up and kept his wand trained on Harry. "That," Malfoy's voice was stuffy and nasal, "was completely uncalled for, Potter. You know the Code."

"And so do you! What happened to courteousness regardless of bloodline? You broke the Code before I did!" Harry shot back.

Malfoy appeared startled by the pronouncement.

"Sally-Anne Perks is a Slytherin. As such, she's owed your respect! We Slytherins are supposed to be like family," Harry finished firmly.

"Hmph," Malfoy said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "I blame those Muggles for your savagery," He jeered, wiping the remaining blood off his swollen lip. A little more dribbled from his mottled, misshaped nose. "Crabbe, Goyle. We're going to the infirmary." Without another glance towards Harry, he tilted his head back haughtily, pinching his nose, and walked away with the two limping large boys, leaving Harry alone in the corridor.

Harry glared at the back of Malfoy's platinum blond hair, wishing he'd stayed behind with the untalkative Slytherin loner, Theodore Nott.

When Harry reached down to pick up his schoolbag, he winced. His hands were awfully sore and his wrists ached. Harry looked at his swollen knuckles which were an angry sort of red. How was he going to hide that Professor Snape or the prefects? Harry suddenly feared reprisal from Malfoy. Even if Harry could hide his hands, Malfoy would tell their Head of House what he'd done. Harry thought he should have run away from the three boys. They didn't look like they could catch him.

At the sound of a yelp, Harry startled and turned.

The corridor was empty save for silent sets of armors, which alternated between holding swords and pikes.

Harry suddenly realized that he had no idea where he was. There was movement out of the corner of his eye. A dusty, grey moggy with yellow eyes stared at him.

Harry blinked. The cat was hanging in the air, body twisted as if it'd fallen and was trying to place feet on the ground.

"Are you alright there?"

It growled loudly at Harry when he walked towards it. He stopped. A good thing he did too. Harry belatedly noticed that the little stones on the ground were in some sort of pattern.

He crouched by the circle, inspecting it. Harry ran through his options. He didn't know any spells that might let the cat down, but he didn't trust that he could put his hands through the magic-whatever-it-was either.

Harry looked around. Spotting a set of armor next to him, Harry slipped the sword out of the armor's grip and almost dropped it due to his sore knuckles. It weighed nearly as much as a small boulder in Harry's opinion. He dragged it back to the pebbles and stones. Two-handed, he made quite a clatter dragging the sword across the floor at the stones. The dull blade scattered the pattern, sliding out of Harry's hands with a large CLANK, and the mysterious cat landed gracefully on its feet.

It flicked its ears at Harry and then fluffed up. "Mreow," the cat said.

"I hope you weren't there long," Harry told it, "That looked uncomfortable."

"What was that noise?!" screeched a scrawny man with greasy grey strings of hair falling down his head. He looked unwashed and his clothes were stained and dirty.

Bruised hands at his sides concealed behind his robes, Harry blinked at the adult not recognizing him.

"Well, well if it isn't Harry Potter," the man said looking down at the mess in the hall and then reached down to pet the cat. "Mrs. Norris, there you are. Some nasty student set you in a trap again, is it?"

The cat let out a crabby meow.

The man turned a baleful eye on Harry. "It was you who broke her out of the ruddy Runic Octagon?"

"Er, yes… Who're you?" Harry asked politely.

"The name's Argus Filch, Caretaker of Hogwarts. Reckon you paid naught attention to me last night."

Harry could hear the cat's rumbly purr from where he stood. "Er, sorry."

A crooning Mr. Filch again reached to pet Mrs. Norris, who quite enjoyed the attention.

Harry fidgeted, worried that he might be late to his next class. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but do you know the way to Professor Quirrell's classroom?"

Mr. Filch smiled a nasty smile. "I know all the shortcuts in this ruddy place as does Mrs. Norris." The caretaker looked towards his feet. "Lead the way, my sweet."

Obediently, Harry followed the trotting cat, whose tail was standing up as if it were a banner to lead a charge into battle. He learned a great many secret passageways and doors as they zigzagged in almost a straight path through Hogwarts. At one point they passed the door to the Great Hall where the meals were served.

Finally, Mrs. Norris sat down in front of door in a long hallway with sets of armor on either side.

"Here we are. Professor Quirrell's classroom," Filch said.

"Thank you, Mrs. Norris, Mr. Filch." The cat rubbed itself across Harry's legs. His experience with Mrs. Figgs' cats—the neighbor of the Dursleys who lived across the street from them—told Harry that this was a very good thing.

"If I catch you wandering the halls after curfew, don't think I won't tell your Head of House. Professor Snape punishes his little vipers well and good in the old way." With another mostly toothless sneer, Argus Filch walked away muttering to himself about lost first years interrupting his important work.

Because he'd arrived too early, Harry hung out in the hallway for some time, bored. He inspected the tall sets of armor and statues around him and then enjoyed the view through the vaulted windows across from them. He could never stay bored in a place with breathtaking views like this...

A bell tolled in the distance and suddenly the classroom door opened flooding the corridor with first year Hufflepuffs. A pale girl with blonde pigtails squeaked when she almost ran into Harry and her friend whispered loudly, "Hannah! You almost ran into the Boy-Who-Lived!"

The rest stared as well, but left quickly down the hallway. "Did you see his scar?" Many of them whispered to each other. Quite suddenly, Harry missed the company of another Slytherin. And then he thought he should probably figure out what he was going to tell the others when they arrived. He looked back out at the distant mountains, wondering if he might one day visit them.

"H-Harry P-Potter. Welcome. I didn't e-expect to see you so-so soon. C-come in," Professor Quirrell gestured to his classroom. When Harry followed after the professor into the room, it stank mostly of garlic and some unmentionable foulness that Harry couldn't pinpoint.

Something about the man set Harry on edge that hadn't been there when they first met in the Leaky Cauldron. Perhaps it was the way he kept washing his hands together, looking at him expectantly.

"So, Sl-Slytherin, e-eh? A g-good h-house for s-strong wizards."

"You mean, Dark Wizards."

"Th-the strongest ge-generally are," Professor Quirrell agreed. "And th-the b-best defense a-against the D-Dark Arts en-entails i-its study."

Harry was skeptical of this, but he was saved answering when the Slytherin girls and Nott opened the door.

"Where's Malfoy?" Parkinson's high-pitched voice asked.

"He went to the infirmary. Crabbe and Goyle went along with him," Harry answered truthfully, since his 'aura' apparently told people when he lied. However, Harry didn't say why Malfoy or the rest had needed to go. Again, Harry worried that he might get in trouble when the school Healer told Snape about his godson's bloody nose. Harry had a feeling that mentioning that he'd started the fight in defense of his dead mother's honor wouldn't pardon his behavior.

"Oh? And left you all alone? Is he daft?"

"Professor Quirrell kept me company. Didn't you Professor?"

"Y-yes, P-potter." Flustered at having to be put on the spot, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher stammered even worse than usual.

Harry took a seat, and blue-eyed Theodore Nott sat next to him.

The other boy leaned close to him. "Did you hex them or something?" Nott whispered.

"No. What makes you say that?" Harry gave him a look.

Nott's steel blue eyes looked at something around Harry and then he nodded. "You had a row with them then." His classmate looked specifically at Harry's swollen hands, and Harry hastily shoved them under the desk.

Not long after, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle reappeared looking as good as new, and the class started.

The lesson turned into a bit of joke. The Professor gave no demonstrations and hardly seemed prepared to teach them anything. He told the class stories, mainly, but even those were dubious. He wouldn't give them enough details about defeating the vampire in Romania or the zombie in Africa.

After they were dismissed as soon as the bell tolled, Draco complained loudly down the corridor. "What a load of tosh! I'd hoped he'd teach us new curses. I wanted to try them out on the Gryffindorks after our Double Potions Class on Friday."

"Quit complaining, Malfoy. We're all disappointed," Parkinson said. Tracey Davis and Daphne Greengrass, her two cohorts, agreed. Bulstrode was behind them reading as they walked.

"You can ask the upperclassmen for some tips," Perks offered quietly.

"Right, they duel later this week, don't they?" Nott grinned.

Harry wondered what a magic duel would look like…

"Y'know, I'm glad that class is over," Goyle said tiredly. "I'm hungry."

Crabbe grunted in agreement.

Harry silently agreed with the two. Then an idea struck him. "I know a shortcut to the Great Hall," Harry said to Nott.

"You? Since when?" Malfoy's expression was rich with incredulity.

"This way," Harry said, not letting Malfoy's jibe bother him. He retraced his steps through numerous musty passageways, until they were all stepping out of a portrait right outside the Great Hall.

"Blimey, Potter," Nott breathed out. "That was amazing. Someone tell you or give you a map?"

Harry only smiled, and Nott surprisingly didn't pester him about it. Harry doubted any of them would have released an errant cat stuck in a magical trap. Well, Harry amended, maybe Perks or Bulstrode would have. They seemed the type.

They walked into the Great Hall which was already filling with students.

"Tomorrow morning we have History of Magic. Professor Binns is going to bore us to death," Pansy Parkinson said.

The Slytherins laughed around her. Harry didn't get it, and he didn't remember Draco pointing the teacher out the previous night.

"Professor Binns is a ghost," Perks said next to him. "Rumor has it one day he fell asleep in the staffroom and got up to go teach a class, but left his earthly body behind."

"Oh," Harry said taking a seat next to her at the Slytherin long table. Prefect Samantha Pitts took the other side of Harry. What he'd thought was a grey and silver scarf was actually a small, flat snake with shimmering scales.

"Hello, Harry," Pitts greeted cheerfully. Her brown eyes were more hazel as they glinted dangerously at him. Though he'd known her for less than a day, her jolliness immediately set Harry on edge.

"Hullo." He looked at the snake uncertainly.

"Well, go on then. You don't have to wait for my permission to speak to Quinn."

Harry brought his eyes closer to the snake, who blinked and raised its head at him. "Hullo, Quinn," he whispered. "What kind of snake are you? You're very pretty."

His fellow Slytherins fell silent around him, whispering quietly as they watched him.

"Thanksss. I'm a Polychromatic Sssaw-Ridge."

"What's a Polychromatic Saw-Ridge, Prefect Pitts?"

"Do you expect me to believe that you were speaking Parseltongue?" She sounded disgusted. "Anybody could have made up those noises."

Harry blinked. The snake had spoken a lispy version of the Queen's English to him.

"Harry doesn't know anything about Magical Creatures, Sam," Prefect Gilbert across from Harry said in his defense.

"This is outrageous! You really think a Half-Blood can be a Parselmouth?"

"Ask me a question that only Quinn would know the answer to," Harry said defiantly.

The prefect narrowed her eyes. "Who gave him to me?"

Harry met the snake's curious gaze and relayed the question. His eyes flashed when the snake answered. It had been a trick question! "Nobody did. You stole his egg from a nest you found and hatched him yourself when you were only seven."

A hand clapped his shoulder. Theodore Nott was smirking ear to ear. "This just proves that Potter has a link to Salazar Slytherin himself. No wonder he was able to defeat the Dark Lord when he was a baby."

"Voldemort just had a rash of bad luck. There's nothing special about me," Harry insisted.

Every last one of them flinched, though it was the barest amount among the older students. Harry looked at them curiously.

"You're certainly irreverent. Not even seventh-year Slytherins dare to utter his name," Gilbert quipped.

Harry snorted, "It just seems silly to call him 'You-Know-Who' or the 'Dark Lord'." He looked uncertainly at Nott, who grinned unashamedly back.

"I'm sure you can ask one of the professors why no one calls the Dark Lord by his name since they lived through it," Prefect Pitts said lightly.

The food appeared distracting Harry from the conversation. Right as he began to shovel the food into his mouth, Harry remembered Malfoy's earlier comment about his manners and forced himself to take smaller bites. He was surprised that Malfoy hadn't threatened him yet, but then Harry noticed that Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had not chosen to sit as close to Harry as they did earlier.

"Y'know, I'm not really Muggle-born," Sally-Anne Perks whispered very quietly to Harry, while the others conversed loudly enough to have their voices carry in a large hall packed with other children. "That's what Malfoy told you, right? That's why you had a row with him." Nott must have told her.

"Why would it matter if you were?" It didn't make any sense to Harry.

Her face grew pink at his comment. "My parents are actually Squibs who've learned to live among Muggles. They were disinherited, you see."

Harry had just taken a large bite of an apple, and he shot her a questioning look.

"A Squib is someone who is born to a wizarding family and doesn't possess any magic of their own. My mum and dad were so proud when I did my first little bit of accidental magic. I turned a bike I'd gotten on my sixth birthday from black to pink right in front of my Muggle friends."

"So you're a pure-blood?"

Perks nodded shyly. "Sometimes the magic skips a generation. That's why most wizarding families are small. The more children you have, the more likely you'll get a Squib. It's why so many pure-bloods are jealous of the Weasleys. There's not a Squib among them."

Harry thought that was very interesting.

"Anyway," Perks continued, "I don't mind that you're only half-pure. My mum told me that if Muggle-borns weren't around, magical folk would have died out a long time ago or all been born Squibs by now. And I heard that Lily Evans, your mum, had been a brilliant witch at Charms, even better than the pure-bloods in her year."

Harry smiled. It'd been the first time anyone had said anything nice about his mother. His chest ached. He wondered what his mum had looked like.

"Are you okay?" Perks asked curiously.

"The roast beef isn't settling like it should," Harry said quickly. It was partly the truth. He'd eaten too much again.

Another bell tolled, and the Slytherins parted ways by year.


	3. A Favor Owed

_**Author's Notes: **Snape is especially fun to write because he has a firm set of expectations of Harry. He expects Harry to be spoiled because, after all, Arabella Figgs reported that his cousin Dudley is spoiled senselessly. He expects Harry to be an idiot due to his primary school marks and the remarks of several of his Muggle teachers about his lack of motivation to strive any better. In addition, Snape expects Harry to be an arrogant twit because the neighborhood considers him to be a dull-witted delinquent also reported by Mrs. Figgs. Since James and Lily Potter were both Gryffindors, Severus Snape had been laboring under the expectation that Harry Potter would also be in Gryffindor. Now that Harry is in Slytherin, Snape is forced to re-evaluate his assumptions, a decidedly onerous task especially due to the superficial likeness of Harry to James and the years spent believing that Lily's son was properly taken care of.  
_

_Also, if you've noticed, the Slytherins are necessarily on a different schedule than the Gryffindors, excepting when they have Double Potions on Friday._

_Hope you enjoy._

* * *

A few days passed as Harry grew more familiar with his year-mates. The rest of Snape's 'interview' had been just like Gilbert described: nothing more than questionnaires and pretests, most of which Harry was certain he'd failed. The fact that half the questions looked like made-up words only motivated Harry to learn everything he could before Malfoy decided to take his revenge on him.

Meanwhile, Professor Snape never brought up the scuffle between Harry and three of his roommates. Harry wondered if the stodgy professor even knew about it. He'd thought that Malfoy would certainly tattle, but the longer time passed without Professor Snape bearing down on Harry the more he worried. Malfoy was not someone who would easily forgive and forget.

Tuesday morning, the day after the scuffle, Harry had been happy when he woke up to see that his hands had healed overnight. His happiness was overshadowed by awe when he sat down for breakfast in the Great Hall. He had apparently missed the hundreds of owls that streamed in every morning to deliver mail. So many owls of all shapes, colors, and sizes had swooped down to release their burdens into the intended recipient's awaiting hands or lap. Though he didn't receive anything, Harry had been entertained by the creatures' graceful entrance and exit. Issues with Malfoy and future punishment from Professor Snape aside, it was another excellent day that began with another full stomach.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic. Professor Binns had droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates like Harry had done in a normal school. Even now, Harry thought that he'd gotten Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up while he was taking notes, though he was equally sure that Emeric had never owned a Fwooper, a magical bird whose song could drive a listener insane.

There had been a long free period after that class and then after lunch was Charms Class. Professor Flitwick was tinier in person than he had been sitting at the enormous High Table. He had to stand on a pile of books to see over his tall desk. At the start of their first class, he took roll call and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. The Slytherins laughed at their teacher, and poor Harry tried to banish the blush off his face.

They then learned how to charm a leather pouch to hold an incredible amount of items without any noticeable outward bulge. They were warned that if they exceeded the item limit that the pouch would show strains of it. Then, Professor Flitwick told them that they could keep the pouches to hold their books and school things if they wanted. Most of the Slytherins scoffed, already sporting their own pricey bags, but Harry was relieved. He quickly transferred his books, blank scrolls, quills, and inkwell from the ugly burlap sack Hagrid had fashioned for him to the much more agreeable leather sack. Malfoy watched him with an unreadable expression when Harry shoved the burlap sack into the leather schoolbag with everything else. Harry sent him a glare, daring him to say something. He was surprised when Malfoy was the first to turn away.

Wednesday morning, Harry had gotten into the habit of rising early, reading, and going to breakfast with Nott, avoiding any chance he had of being pulled aside like he had Monday morning by Professor Snape.

Their first class was with Professor McGonagall. She was again different than all the other teachers. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't someone to cross when she first greeted them in the Entrance Hall. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"This Transfigurations class will hold some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. Some of Harry's year-mates were impressed. Others weren't quite.

"She's going to make us transfigure matches into sewing needles," Draco muttered in disgust for every ear to hear.

"Mr. Malfoy, if you already know how to do it, why don't you demonstrate to the class?" Their teacher had asked sharply.

With a smirk, Draco stood and pulled out his wand. He flourished it over the match with a look of great concentration. The match turned into a golden needle.

"Excellent. Five points to Slytherin. Now, turn it back into a match, Mr. Malfoy."

With another wave of his wand, Malfoy only succeeded in turning it into a metal match.

"As you all will discover, it is much more difficult to change hard materials into softer materials. You may begin."

The class had ended with only Draco Malfoy successfully finishing the task of changing a match into a needle. Transfigurations, the magic of changing things into something else, took up two periods in a day, and then there was another free period after lunch. Harry spent much of his time doing homework during these free periods, grateful that the course work wasn't terribly difficult. Most of his year-mates slacked off and used the time to talk to each other or wander around Hogwarts. For Harry, writing legibly with ink and quill had been challenge enough.

Thursday morning until lunch was a study period, where the first- and second-year Slytherins were expected to sit quietly and work on their class work with a prefect to watch over them. When Harry had asked if he could skive off because he'd finished his homework, Prefect Pitts handed him two very thick scrolls. "From Professor Snape," she'd said, and Harry's expectant face promptly fell. Would this be assigned lines for striking Malfoy? If it was, it was perhaps the most impersonal form of punishment that Harry had received. Usually the responsible adult would at least confront him first...

"You may spend the rest of the study period in the library," she added, a tad too cheerfully when Harry lingered too long. "Miss Perks!"

Perks squeaked in surprise.

"Please escort Mr. Potter to the library."

"Yes, Prefect Pitts," the first year murmured packing her bag.

Harry suspected that Pitts enjoyed being bossy, which was why she got so cheerful. He gathered his things, ignoring the smirks from Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. They likely knew he was in trouble. He walked out of the classroom.

What Harry didn't say was that he was rather excited. Harry had never been to a library before, besides the very small one in the Muggle school that Harry had gone to before Hogwarts, and he thought that hardly counted.

Soon, Sally-Anne Perks came out the classroom behind him with a small rolled scroll, her ears a little pink.

"Did you get into trouble too?"

She blinked at him. "Er, no. I, well." She tucked the scroll under her arm. "My magical tutors apparently didn't teach me everything I needed to know before coming to Hogwarts." Perks cleared her throat, striding confidently down the corridor. "This way."

Harry looked down at the big scroll wonderingly. Comparing the two he had to Perks' small one he thought he should feel at least a bit embarrassed, but didn't because he'd had absolutely nothing in the way of a magical education. It certainly explained why the three bullies had snickered when he left. The Boy-Who-Lived was an idiot.

It wasn't long before they entered the massive room. Harry was astonished by the general bigness of Hogwarts Library. There were shelves upon shelves of books everywhere. The tall windows on each side provided plenty of light.

A tall woman with a tense face greeted them with a finger over her lips. The library was silently packed with students. Many of them noticed Harry right away, but hardly let a whisper fall from their lips though they stared.

Only one table was open. There was a Gryffindor with bushy hair who had piles of books around her.

"Hullo, Hermione," Harry said quietly as he put his things down and took a seat across from her.

"SHHH!" The librarian said clearly from the other side of the room.

Perks shot Harry a warning look, putting her bag down, and opened her scroll.

The Gryffindor smiled at him before going back to her book.

Harry couldn't help smiling back. He tried breaking the wax seal on the scroll and frowned at it before Perks picked up the other thick scroll and opened it easily.

He frowned more with confusion. She slid a hastily written note over. You have to finish the questions in this one before the other one can be opened, Harry read, hearing her voice in the words.

"oh," he breathed out. The outer sheet fell away and a pile of parchment sheets sat in front of Harry. The first page had instructions on the correct gripping technique to hold and use a quill and the correct amount of ink which wouldn't leave blots or scratches on the scroll. Below those well-written instructions were many, many horizontal lines with faded cursive letters and loops.

It was a bloody primer for cursive. Harry felt his face flush. He knew his handwriting was atrocious, but if he'd been able to use a normal pen or pencil it would have looked better.

Not wanting to deal with that humiliation, he tried to slide the sheet off the pile, yet it stubbornly held fast. He glared at it as his fingers tried to pry the pages of the stack apart, but they all held fast together as if they'd been glued. Would he really have to complete the primer to finish the rest of the scroll?

It was likely.

With a grumble, he thought he'd do it as quickly as possible. He finished a line sloppily, re-dipping his quill into the inkwell for the next. Before his eyes, the ink he placed had disappeared as if the paper had soaked it all up without a trace. Harry made an annoyed cluck with his tongue. It looked as if he was going to have to do this correctly.

Soon afterward, Harry had learned what 'correct' quill writing really was. If he splattered even the tiniest amount of ink, smeared the wet ink with a dragging hand or scratched a spot on the scroll, the entire line or lines disappeared. If Harry hadn't been so curious to know what else the scroll held, he would have flat-out thrown the cursed thing away. It wasn't as if it was graded, and yet Harry persisted. He wanted to know what else lay beneath the cursive primer.

By the time he finished the sheet, Harry's ink-stained hand was cramping. He was finally able to pull the finished primer from the top of the stack and set it aside to dry. Hardly an hour had gone by. He looked at the next page.

It listed numerous books and pages to read along with a list of short questions. Recognizing the nonsensical questions from one of the quizzes, Harry nearly groaned.

He looked beside him but Perks was nowhere to be seen, so he couldn't ask her for help. He sighed.

A note with lovely handwriting dropped in front of him. 'Do you need help?'

Harry looked up at the Gryffindor. 'Would you mind? I need to find these books.' he wrote back even as his wrist and fingers protested. He stared at his very neat handwriting, impressed with himself.

After reading Harry's note, Hermione Granger beamed at him and silently held out a hand for the list of titles and authors. Soon they were walking up and down aisles as she pulled off books. "I really should read some of these. They look fascinating," she whispered conspiratorially. Tales of Beedle the Bard and Enchanted Stories, Quidditch through the Ages, and many other books with thin spines were placed in Harry's awaiting hands. "Madam Pince is strict about borrowing so many books, but if you show her that a professor wants you to read them I'm sure you'll have no trouble at all."

Harry grinned at her. "Thanks. I was afraid you'd treat me differently."

"Whatever for?" She said just as quietly.

Well, none of the other Gryffindors smiled at him if Harry passed them in the hallway. Ron Weasley didn't look at him at all ever since Harry had been Sorted into Slytherin. Then again, it might have had more to do with Malfoy. He liked insulting others just because they were a little poorer than others and insinuating other foul things about the redhead's family.

It was why Harry walked with Nott more often than late. If they hadn't been in the same house, Harry thought he would have hardly talked to Malfoy.

"Because I'm in Slytherin," he answered.

"Nonsense," she scoffed, returning his list back to him. "Just because you're there, doesn't make you evil," she said as if she'd had to say it a thousand times already. "And why would you be in the cahoots with someone who tried to kill you and murdered your parents?"

Harry mercilessly suppressed his wince. Hermione had struck right at the heart of the matter. Harry himself had avoided thinking about what it meant for him to be in Slytherin. So far, he hadn't felt any different.

"It's a load of rubbish and a waste of time to wildly speculate about it anyway. Besides, I've noticed that you don't hang around Draco Malfoy between classes anymore, and you can always learn about a person by the company they keep." She smiled cheekily.

Harry looked at her, wishing he'd been sorted into the Gryffindor house instead of Blaise Zabini.

"Potter," Perks whispered tightly. When Harry looked towards her, she was glancing furtively at the tables of other students. Perks waved towards herself with an alarmed look when she saw he had noticed her.

"Sorry," Harry said to Hermione realizing he'd been 'fraternizing' with a non-Slytherin, which was another breach of the Code; his first breach had been to attack Malfoy... something he still didn't feel bad about. "I have to go."

"See you at Potions tomorrow, Harry." The Gryffindor turned to the massive wall of books and plucked another small book off the shelf.

Harry went back to his table where Sally-Anne Perks was pushing things into her bag. When she saw Harry, she deliberately looked at the clock and then at the long queue of students who wanted to borrow books from the Hogwarts Library.

They had fifteen minutes before the lunch bell would ring. Harry carefully stoppered the inkwell and cleaned off his quill. Then he rolled the scroll up and shoved it in his bag. Following Perks, Harry carried his books to the queue which had shortened significantly when he wasn't looking.

Madam Pince spent no time at all on Perks' stack of books and looked disapprovingly at Harry. "You may only borrow three books at a time, Mr. Potter."

Harry dug the list of books he needed and showed it to her. "Professor Snape has given me extra work to do."

Without another complaint, the librarian sniffed and took the books, waving her wand over them. A quill was frantically writing down the titles and authors into a thick ledger.

"There you are, dear," she said crisply.

Harry put them into his already heavy school sack, just as a lunch bell tolled.

He and Perks left the library together.

"You won't tell anyone about Hermione and me, will you Perks?" Harry asked cautiously.

"You can call me Sally-Anne."

He nodded. "I prefer Harry… So, are you going to snitch on me?"

Sally-Anne frowned. "There's a reason we don't do what you just did. Slytherins are the first to be blamed for everything, even by supposed friends. My father's father wrote to me about the phenomenon to make sure I didn't make the same mistake he had when he'd gone to Hogwarts."

"I got blamed for everything growing up, so that doesn't bother me in the slightest."

She blinked. "Your Muggle relatives were strict?"

Harry shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. "So, will you?"

Sally-Anne let out a woeful sigh. "I won't tell, but you owe me a favor, Harry."

"Alright."

Not long after, they walked the rest of the way to the Great Hall and took a seat. Today, the prefects were sitting with their mates instead of by the first years. Engaging conversation happened all around Harry, and he was glad not to be the center of attention yet again.

Lunch was another splendid affair. Harry ate everything in sight with a calm demeanor and manners.

"Where do you find room in that belly of yours, Potter?" Pansy Parkinson suddenly asked across the table after a small lull in conversation. Millicent Bulstrode looked to be reading a book and had so far not participated in the conversation as she chewed on a bread roll.

"I wagered that you're a bigger glutton than Crabbe and Goyle combined," Nott explained teasingly.

The two hulking students, having heard their names, turned around to look towards Nott.

"A bigger glutton than Crabbe and Goyle combined?" Malfoy's high voice called out. "Not likely!"

After devouring another plateful of food, Harry belatedly realized that he was still very hungry. He supposed it looked a little strange when everyone else had finished.

"He's just finished his sixth plateful," Sally-Anne said with conviction next to Harry. "Which is the total number that Crabbe and Goyle consumed."

"You counted?" Malfoy's tone dripped with spite.

"I made that wager with Nott. Of course, I'd want a third-party to verify," Parkinson said loftily.

Harry slopped more food onto his sparkling clean plate.

Goyle's mouth sprang open with a bewildered expression on his face. Crabbe just looked confused.

"You're still hungry?" Parkinson said incredulously.

Harry snorted, digging into the food careful not to forget his manners.

"Pay up, Parkinson," Nott practically crowed.

"How do I know you didn't enchant his stomach?" She replied haughtily.

"We could have him checked over by Madam Pomfrey," Nott suggested with a drawl.

Parkinson growled, and five shiny pieces of Wizard gold was slapped into his hand. "That's the last time I wager anything with you!"

"Did those Muggles never feed you right, Potter?" Daphne Greengrass suddenly asked.

Harry swallowed and gave a half-hearted shrug as he slid another fried piece of potato into his mouth.

"That wasn't a no," she said rather quietly.

"How dare they starve a magical person under their care! I ought to tell my father. He'd have you removed from those filthy savages," Malfoy sneered.

Harry nearly choked on the food at the protective vehemence in Malfoy's voice. Nott slapped his back while Harry tried to gulp down juice, causing him to slop juice down his front, which Perks thankfully fixed with a Cleaning Charm.

Everyone was looking at him with deep pity.

"They didn't starve me," Harry said as soon as he could before they said anything. His year-mates' expressions were varying mixtures of surprise, anger, or bewilderment. Harry had forgotten about his aura.

"Do you see how he lies to defend those blasted Muggles?" Parkinson said in an outraged tone.

"An obvious sign he's been mistreated," Davis said quietly. The other first-year Slytherins nodded sagely to one another.

"I'm not defending the Dursleys," Harry spat out venomously. "And just because the Dursleys don't like me doesn't mean you can call all Muggles filthy, Malfoy. I happen to know that most Muggles are nice types. In fact they're a lot like wizards and witches, except they use machines instead of magic to do everything."

"Machines," Parkinson said, rolling the word in her mouth. "I've heard of this term before."

"You mean like riding a car, instead of a broom to get around?" Bulstrode gruffly asked.

Harry was more than happy to take the change of subject. "You don't ride a car, you drive it, and if it's large enough other people can ride in it while you drive."

"I didn't think cars could fly," Greengrass said importantly. Malfoy's eyes seemed unfocused as if he had no idea what any of them were talking about, much like Crabbe's and Goyle's. In stark contrast, Nott seemed amused by the sudden turn in conversation.

"No," Harry agreed, "That's why Muggles take planes. Those fly through the air to get them to faraway places faster. I've never been in one before, but I expect it wouldn't be as fun as flying on a broom."

"Who cares about Muggles?" Malfoy complained, "Really, I'd think Salazar Slytherin would be rolling in his grave if he could hear us discussing them now." Crabbe and Goyle laughed, but the others still looked a bit curious. The bell signaling the end of lunch tolled, and Harry was practically carried away by the Slytherin girls.

As soon as the other Slytherin boys were behind, the girls took turns asking Harry questions about Muggle technology. Harry tried to answer them as well as he could. At least as a group they were heading towards the dungeons. They had a free period, and Harry really wanted to finish the thick scrolls before assigned homework made it impossible to keep up.

"Why are you so interested in Muggles?" Harry asked in exasperation after he answered what felt like the hundredth question. "You could just ask Sally-Anne, since she grew up around them."

Sally-Anne's ears blushed and she fiddled with her glasses.

"It's not the same at all," Parkinson groused. "Her parents had her tutored in our ways when they found out she could perform magic, so she doesn't really understand the Muggle world like you do."

"Oh," Harry said.

"As for the reason why, we're helping Bulstrode research about Muggle culture and techno-widgets so she can write a novel on a forbidden romance between a young Slytherin who falls in love with a Muggle-born wizard. We'd ask our parents but they'd be furious if they knew."

Harry had no idea what a techno-widget was supposed to be. "Bulstrode's a writer?" He wouldn't have guessed that.

The large uni-browed girl grinned ear to ear.

"Well," Harry said, "Instead of interrogating me, why don't you write down any questions you have so I can answer them later? Professor Snape gave me loads of extra work to do…"

Parkinson, Greengrass, and Davis tittered, while Bulstrode and Sally-Anne smiled.

"Very well," Parkinson said imperially. "We shan't impose ourselves on your time any longer, Potter."

They stopped in front of the portrait hiding the Slytherin common room.

"Wormwood," Davis told the woman.

Without a word, the portrait swung open.

In the dimly lit common room, there was a large fire blazing in the fireplace straight across from them, inset into the wall above it was a silver emblem of a snake with emeralds for eyes which always seemed to twinkle unnervingly in Harry's direction. The girls immediately went to the left stairwell leading to the dormitories, conceivably to discuss what he had told them.

Harry settled into an out of the way nook with plump pillows covering the cold, rough stone in front of a giant water-filled vista. He could see squid and other unidentifiable creatures swimming past the clumps of very tall weeds that looked like seaweed. He opened his bag and pulled out The Tales of Beedle the Bard and began to read. It was halfway through the first page that Harry realized the book was a collection of Magical Fairy Tales. When he'd finished the book and easily answered the questions, Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Professor Snape was trying to teach him about the Wizarding world he'd grown up away from.

Silently, he wondered if he'd end up thanking the hook-nosed professor for assigning work.

Not bloody likely, Harry thought to himself.


	4. Draughts and Bezoars

_**Author's Notes: **Hermione is perhaps the least non-judgmental character of the Gryffindors. I think it might have been helped by her Muggle upbringing. Also, techno-widget is just about the cutest word for technology.  
_

* * *

Much, much later, after Harry had gone to dinner and finished several more sheets of questions, he left the Slytherin common room with his year-mates.

Astronomy was a Thursday night activity with Professor Sinistra. They studied the night skies and learned the names of the stars and movements of the planets.

Harry was knackered when another nightmare of the purple turban woke him up Friday morning. He tiredly dressed himself and stared out the open window as he gently pet Hedwig's soft, downy head. He watched the sun rise and then carried his schoolbag, cauldron set, and box of Potions ingredients downstairs.

Taking a seat in the very same nook he'd taken a liking to, Harry greeted the female selkie who often was around at this time in the morning with a wave. He'd learned a little about merfolk in the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them textbook that Hagrid had gotten for him at Flourish and Blotts. Selkies were not as pretty as sirens, which were the ones Harry thought of when he thought of mermaids, but sometimes she'd whistle or hum at him in a beautiful way through the glass. He tried speaking to her but she didn't seem to understand and likewise he didn't understand her bubbly and haunting gibberish. He gathered that her name was 'Rah-ee-ahtri'. Even if they couldn't communicate directly, his selkie friend would sometimes bring strange plants or water animals to show him and in return he showed her fantastic illustrations of land-based flora from his Herbology textbook. It was a very peaceful friendship, which was why Harry was puzzled that the selkies had chosen to be called Beast and not Being when they were so obviously sentient. Scamander, the author of the magical beasts book, hadn't explained that.

Pressing his back to the glass with a hum, Harry cracked open Magical Draughts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger. Four days ago, Harry had struggled to get through the preface and first chapter. Now as he reread it, Harry understood that the author had been trying to connect the reader of magical persuasion to familiar subjects, not leave them perplexed. Begrudgingly, Harry inwardly admitted that Professor Snape's extra reading assignments had come in handy.

In the second chapter, Harry learned that bezoar was a stone harvested from the stomach of a goat which was a powerful antidote against most poisons. He wondered if the passwords so far had been potions ingredients.

Many more Slytherins were downstairs by the time the clocks screamed.

"You ready to go, Harry?" It was Nott.

Harry packed up his potion book. "Ready when you are."

They made it to the Great Hall and sat at the mostly empty Slytherin table. Harry thought it was because many of the Slytherins were night owls. Harry poured sugar on his porridge while Theodore helped himself to some eggs and ham on toast. They ate without talking.

Today the Slytherins would share Potions lessons with the Gryffindors. Harry hadn't run into Hermione Granger since he'd spoken to her in the library the previous day. He thought it was a pity Hogwarts was so large.

The rest of the Slytherins trudged in and took their seats on the bench. In another fifteen minutes, the Great Hall was packed.

Just then the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, watching the owls circle the tables and drop letters and packages into students' laps.

Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far, but today she flew in and dropped a note in his lap. She nibbled playfully on his ear and lightly squawked while he read the misspelled note with untidy, thick-lettered handwriting.

Deer Harry,  
Do ye want ta come &amp; have a cuppa with me 'rownd three? I live down the hill from the brige. I want to heer all abowt yer first week. Send ansur back with Hedwig.  
Hagrid

Harry gave Hedwig a bit of toast, so she would stop nipping his ear. He tore off a piece of scroll and quickly penned a positive reply. He held it out to Hedwig, and she grabbed it with her talons. With a squawk she flew off to deliver the note.

"Hagrid? Isn't that the Gamekeeper?" Nott asked.

"Yes, he's a friendly fellow. He was the first to tell me I was a wizard."

"Ah," Nott murmured, slightly puzzled. Harry gave him a quizzical look, but the other Slytherin didn't ask whatever had piqued his curiosity.

It turned out to be fortunate that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to because Potions turned out to be the worst class that he had attended so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. He (mistakenly) thought that perhaps the Potions professor would be kinder to him, knowing the nastiness he'd had to put up with the Dursleys. At the end of the Potions lesson, Harry knew he'd been wrong to think that. Snape didn't dislike Harry—he detested him.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons, not far off from where the entrance to the Slytherin house was. It was much colder in the classroom, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Professor Snape, like Professor Flitwick, started the class by roll call, and like Professor Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new—celebrity."

Many of the Gryffindors including Ron Weasley began to snigger loudly behind their hands.

Harry glared at the redhead beside him. He hadn't done anything to deserve that.

"Ronald Weasley, five points from Gryffindor," Professor Snape said with a harsh tone.

"What! What for?!" The redhead yelled. Several Slytherins sniggered, a group that unsurprisingly included Malfoy.

"Another five points for your disrespect."

Ron Weasley scowled at Harry, who blinked in confusion at the ire directed at him for no reason at all. Why would Professor Snape make things worse between Harry and the prejudiced Gryffindor? The Potions Professor continued calling roll in his same drawling tone without interruption. Once he had finished, he stepped to the front of his desk.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Professor Snape began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word—like Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without much effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Annoyance at the professor momentarily lifted, Harry never realized Professor Snape was so poetic. More silence followed the professor's inflexible words.

"Potter!"

Harry jerked. He hadn't been expected to be called on. "Sir?" Harry answered hesitantly.

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry glanced back at Malfoy, who inspected his nails unhelpfully. Harry looked around. His fellow Slytherins looked very uncomfortable as if they didn't know the answer either. Only Hermione's hand was stretched high into the air. Harry looked back at Professor Snape. "I don't know, sir."

Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything."

Harry was left feeling confused. The room was so quiet that Harry could hear the others breathing.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?"

Noticing Harry's silence, Hermione Granger's hand shot straight up into the air.

Thankfully, this was something Harry knew. "The stomach of a goat."

"Very good, ten points to Slytherin," the Potions professor looked disdainfully at Hermione. His eyes raked back to Harry. "If you had bothered to read the fifth chapter of your Potions text, you would have known that asphodel and wormwood create a sleeping potion so powerful that it is called the Draught of Living Death." Professor Snape looked around. "Well? Why aren't you all copying this down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment.

"Sir," Harry said through his clenched teeth, "Why didn't you ask Hermione Granger?"

Snape's coal-black eyes pinned Harry to the spot. "Mind your tongue, Potter, or you will earn a detention."

Harry decided to keep his mouth shut.

The rest of the period didn't go much better. Though Professor Snape acting as Head of House did not have favorites, as Potions Professor he clearly favored the Slytherins over the Gryffindors. Among the Slytherins, the professor noticeably praised his godson for his techniques in weighing and preparing potions ingredients.

It hardly seemed fair to detract a larger number of points from Gryffindor over the barest slights when the Slytherins received no such threat. The environment in the classroom felt absolutely stifling as they all attempted to create a Cure for Boils using powdered snake fang, horned slugs, and porcupine quills.

And then round-faced Neville Longbottom blew up a cauldron. The potion swept across the floor, burning holes through people's shoes. Soon, everyone was carefully perched on top of their stools to get away from it. Poor Neville moaned in pain as boils sprang up all over him.

Professor Snape quickly cleared the potion from the room with a swipe of his wand. "Idiot boy!" Their Potions professor snarled, "I supposed you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered uselessly.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Professor Snape spat at Neville's Potions partner. Then he rounded on Hermione Granger who'd been right beside Neville. "You—Granger—why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's two points from Gryffindor."

It was so completely unfair for it being the first day of class that Harry could no longer stand it.

"Sir, I hardly think it's her fault that Longbottom was careless," Harry said defiantly. "In fact, I doubt Miss Granger's ability is so low that she has to make another student fail in order to look good."

Nott grabbed Harry's arm. "What are you doing, Potter?" He hissed.

Harry shook his hand off. "Anyway, it's not her job. You're paid to teach us Potions, aren't you? I think it's you who ought to have reminded Longbottom to take his cauldron off the fire before adding the quills."

Cold anger was etched on Professor Snape's face. "You've earned yourself detention in this lab at seven-thirty tonight, Potter. There's a backlog of cauldrons that require deep-cleaning without magic." The professor addressed the completely still classroom. "Bottle and neatly label your potions and clean up your stations. Put the flagons on my desk and your cauldrons and ingredients in that cupboard where your name has been neatly labeled." A long, stained finger stabbed towards a shabby pre-opened cupboard built into the wall and then the hand dropped. "You will be docked points should you make a mess. Once you've finished, you may go." In a swirl of black robes, Professor Snape slammed the Potions lab door open and stalked down the hall in the direction that Neville and his partner had gone.

For several moments, nobody moved, except Harry who steadily began to organize his things. Then life began to return to the other students again.

"Why would you challenge a Potions Master in his own laboratory? Are you mad?" Nott whispered heatedly.

Harry refused to answer and hurried out of the stifling, windowless classroom after putting his things away. He happily found himself climbing the several floors of stairs. Quite suddenly the marble staircase moved right and he had to grab hold of the railing so he didn't pitch forward down the center of the stairwell. Unbothered by the challenge, Harry had to walk back down two flights to reach a corridor, when he suddenly found himself surrounded by Gryffindors.

At the sight of one very bright-eyed, bushy-haired witch, Harry grinned. "Hermione!"

"Harry!" Hermione waved and pushed past others apologetically to stand nearer to him. "Thanks for sticking up for me."

"It wasn't right what he accused you of. If anything, Professor Snape shouldn't have spent so much time praising Malfoy."

"I don't bloody believe it," Ron Weasley muttered. "I'm in agreement with a Slytherin."

"I wanted to be Sorted anywhere else," Harry admitted softly, "But the Sorting Hat didn't, talking some nonsense about greatness. Honestly, I don't think I would have minded Gryffindor."

"You? A Gryffindor!?" Weasley said with disbelief.

"May I ask you where you're going?" Hermione asked evenly, ignoring Weasley's incredulous shout. "We're nearly to the Gryffindor Tower and outsiders aren't allowed inside."

"Er, well. I thought you might like to come have some tea at Hagrid's place?"

"Not bloody likely," Weasley retorted. "She has other things to do than to waste her time with a Slytherin."

"Ron, I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself!" Hermione scolded. She turned a broad smile on Harry, who had paid no attention to the prejudiced Weasley's words. "I was only going to study for a little bit, but I'd really like to go meet the Gamekeeper more formally, if you don't mind me coming."

"You're off your rocker trying to be mates with a Slytherin."

"Oh, shush," Hermione snapped testily at Ron. "Not you of course," she said hastily to Harry.

"Of course." Harry grinned. "Let's go, shall we?"

Together, they hopped down the moving staircase as the Gryffindors behind them continued climbing. As they turned ever downward, Harry saw that Ron stared after them suspiciously.

Through Hogwarts and out a large backdoor, Harry and Hermione went. They crossed a covered bridge and then carefully down the sloped hill of neatly tended grass to Hagrid's stone cabin. There they met Fang, a giant slobbering dog that wanted to lick their faces. Harry obliged the hound.

"This is Hermione Granger," Harry announced to Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Oh yeah?"

"Thank you for the tea and cakes," she said politely.

Neither of them wanted to eat the shapeless lumps with raisins that were hard enough to chip a tooth, but Hermione pretended to enjoy them, while Harry told Hagrid all about his lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes.

Then, Harry told Hagrid about the lesson with Snape, about how unfair he was to everyone in Gryffindor and how he seemed to detest Harry, even if he was a student in Snape's house! "Professor Snape can give me as many detentions as he wants, but I'll never suck up to him like Malfoy does."

"Yeh don't need to do that, 'Arry. Snape hardly likes teachin'. If yeh ask me, he'd be better off leavin' Hogwarts to make potions fer a living."

"I too was curious about why Professor Snape picked on you in the beginning of class..." Hermione mused. "Like you were somebody to be tolerated. Does he usually act that way?"

"Well. He glared at me during the start-of-term feast. After that, he hasn't seemed to care one way or another."

"Hagrid, do you have any idea why?" Hermione asked the large man plaintively.

"No, absolutely no idea!"

Yet Harry couldn't help thinking that Hagrid had turned away a little so neither of them could see his expression.

"So, are yeh a Muggle-born, Hermione? What do yer parents do fer a livin'?"

That was a suspicious change of subject on Hagrid's part. Harry frowned.

"Yes, I am." Hermione grinned. "My parents are both dentists. They fix teeth for a living."

"Sounds like a dangerous job for a couple of Muggles."

While Hermione explained the art of dentistry to Hagrid, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet. Harry quickly read it.

It was about a Gringotts break-in.

Harry distantly remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but the Weasley hadn't mentioned the date.

He forced himself not to say anything. The Gringotts break-in had happened on his birthday. The very same day that Harry and Hagrid had gone shopping for Harry's school things. The article said that the vault had been broken into some time after it had been emptied. Was that small package that Hagrid had taken from vault seven hundred thirteen what the thieves were after?

As Harry and Hermione headed back into Hogwarts Castle, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Hermione chattered about all sorts of interesting things. Harry only listened with half-an-ear. His head was swimming with questions. Had Hagrid collected the package just in time or was it just coincidence? If so, where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Professor Snape that he didn't want to tell Harry?

"Well," the Gryffindor said sadly as she stepped up to the castle. "I probably won't see you much until next Friday, will I?"

"Probably not." Harry was careful not to say anything about how likely it was that he'd earn a second detention for 'fraternizing' with someone who wasn't Slytherin.

"I hope we can become friends."

Harry smiled. "We already are."

"Good luck during detention. I suggest you not be cheeky with Professor Snape again or he really might assign more," Hermione said sagely.

"Thanks." They parted ways after they entered the castle. Harry walked down the stairs towards the dungeons.

Deciding that he wasn't very hungry since he'd filled up on tea, Harry chose to do homework and study in the empty common room instead of attending dinner.

Since the common room was deserted, Harry thought it was the perfect opportunity to thoroughly explore the room. Easily finding handholds and footholds, he crawled up the rough stonework and inspected every nook he stumbled upon. Most of them were too small, but he found one that was about the size and shape of his old cupboard with a round window. The green water was very murky now as the sun was steadily setting.

Harry would never admit it to anyone, but he disliked sleeping where he could hear other people snore no matter how comfortable the bed was. He felt exposed in the large shared room, which was why he closed the bed curtains.

Lifting himself up easily, Harry curled into the quiet stone loft. From his vantage point, he could see the common room entrance and most everything else.

Harry pulled Quidditch Through the Ages from his bag and began to read.

As he read about the history of a very unusual Wizard sport, Harry's mind soon wandered far from any concerns or worries about breaking so many of the Slytherin House rules.


	5. An Exhilarating Catch

_**Author's Notes: **I almost called this chapter 'The Consequences of Noncompliance" but decided to go with a more neutral term. This chapter was especially fun to write, probably because it gave Snape and Malfoy fits. Oh and I made up the bit about the number of points earned for winning the Quidditch Cup. It's never been specified anywhere that I've seen.  
_

**_Edit_ 30-05-2014:** _James Potter was a Chaser not a Seeker. Reader_, t_hank you for catching my mistake._

* * *

Harry started at the booming voice of Professor Snape yelling, "WHERE IS HARRY POTTER?"

Harry rubbed his eyes and sat up, adjusting his glasses so they sat on his face correctly. He then peered at the lantern-lit room below. The lights had been brightened so that no shadowed corners could be seen. Every student of Slytherin was spread out in the common room below and was either sitting or standing.

Nobody answered.

Much like an ostrich that Harry had seen before, their Head of House tilted his head and twisted his neck to stare furiously at them. "_When_ was Potter last seen?" He spat the question out.

"I _saw_ him walk off with a Mudblood and a Weasley," Draco's irritating voice answered loudly.

"Oh? Then why didn't you _follow_ him?" A young woman's sharp voice pierced out. Harry didn't recognize her or the two young men standing next to her. They looked like seventh years. She was probably Prefect Tourens. The one standing between them was wearing a much larger version of the prefect badge and was probably Head Boy Whitehead, which left Prefect Shah to the right. They seemed unafraid to stand near Professor Snape.

Malfoy immediately looked down, his face red.

Somebody cleared their throat. Theodore Nott looked like he was about to have kittens. "Professor, Harry received a note from the Gamekeeper this morning asking to join him for tea this past afternoon. Maybe—"

"Wonderful. So, Potter went to have tea with a half-giant and one or two Gryffindors at an unsecure location on the edge of the Forbidden Forest and _you_ didn't think that perhaps this wasn't the best idea?"

Nott frowned. "Sorry, professor…"

"Nicolas! Didn't I tell you to have someone keep an eye on him at all times?"

"I'm sorry, sir. We lost him on the marble staircase," The lanky sixth-year prefect answered, "When he was spotted, Potter went directly to the dungeons and was last seen inside this very room. Since the Thin Lady promised to keep me informed through the Bloody Baron if Potter left the Slytherin house and I hadn't heard anything, I assumed that—"

"You _assumed_," Professor Snape's tone dripped acid.

Harry panicked as his brain finally woke up all the way. They were talking about _him. _He should probably say something. He hadn't meant to fall asleep. Had he accidentally missed detention?

"Would _you_ like to explain to Dumbledore how his Golden Boy, the Boy-Who-Lived, went _missing_?"

"No, sir," Nicolas Grimmet answered promptly, looking a little peaky.

"Then I suggest you _find him_. All of you!" And then something—perhaps it was Harry shifting, perhaps he'd made a small noise—that caused Professor Snape to lift his eyes up.

He stared at Harry's white-as-a-sheet expression; his hair obviously more tussled than normal as if he'd fallen asleep.

The two seventh year prefects and the Head Boy also noticed. Soon, the rest of Harry's housemates caught on, as one by one they turned their penetrating gazes towards where Harry sat, framed by arches.

"How the bloody hell did you get up there without a broom?" A muscular, thick-necked student with large teeth blurted out.

"I – er." Harry stated meekly.

"Everyone _out_," Professor Snape growled out. "Tellwyenth, stay put."

Most of them were quite happy to scuttle quickly away to their rooms. Harry's year-mates seemed reluctant to do so until Professor Snape sent a glare at them.

"Sir," Malfoy ventured.

"_Out_!" His godfather snarled.

The nine students scampered up the two sets of steps, and the common room was empty, save for the professor, the prefect, and Harry.

Harry frantically pondered whether or not he should come down. But then he realized that Professor Snape was likely to get him down if he didn't and if the professor had to do that, then Harry would sorely regret it. He slowly worked his way down the intricate stonework. Dropping the last foot to the floor, Harry shuffled forward. Fidgeting in front of Professor Snape, Harry had trouble meeting his eyes.

Professor Snape took out his wand. "You've been around Hagrid's boarhound, haven't you?"

"Er, yes?" Harry squeaked out.

A Refreshening Charm was cast on him, which was a spell that decreased the need to launder clothing, and the dried drool on his robes disappeared.

Professor Snape put his wand into his robes. His black eyes were piercing with intensity. "You have detention for the next month, for your cheek in Potions class, for not attending dinner, for not obeying curfew, for fraternizing with _Gryffindors_, for skipping tonight's detention. Furthermore, you are forbidden from visiting Hagrid—"

Harry opened his mouth to protest.

"Mr. Potter, your mouth will be hexed shut if you do not remain _silent_," Professor Snape warned with a dark hiss.

Harry quickly snapped his mouth shut and watched the angry look on the professor's face warily

"As I was saying, until further notice you may only socialize with Hagrid within Hogwarts castle or by owl. He _will_ be made aware of these arrangements and that they are placed for your safety primarily in mind. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said quietly.

"Additionally, Madam Pomfrey notified me today of some _curious _injuries that my godson and his friends sustained this past week…"

Harry glanced up at the ceiling as he considered lying and realized too late from the narrowing of Snape's eyes that he had already given himself away. "What, they didn't tell you?"

"_Obviously_ _not_," the professor said through bared teeth. "So, you beat a boy twice your size black and blue, broke my godson's nose, and threw a Stone-Boil Curse at Mr. Crabbe. Did you not think I wouldn't find out?" When Harry looked at the floor and didn't answer, Snape continued, "Exactly _how_ did you bully them into silence?"

"I didn't, sir. Afterwards, Malfoy and I argued over the Code, and then he and the others went to the infirmary," he said weakly. "I don't know why he didn't tell you."

"Perhaps because physical violence is grounds for _immediate expulsion_ from Hogwarts."

That hit Harry in the gut. "I didn't curse Crabbe! Malfoy cast it at me after I started hitting Goyle, but I only did that because they ganged up on me after I broke Malfoy's nose." Harry's stomach twisted in knots at the prospect of returning to the Dursleys. "I shouldn't have lost my temper, I know that, sir. I… I was just so _angry_ when Malfoy called Perks and my mum a Mudblood. I've never hit anyone before." Harry winced at the unintended lie. "At least, not before they started in on me…"

There was a long pause. Harry didn't dare lift his eyes.

"So," Professor Snape drawled coldly, "The fight started because you wanted to teach my godson a lesson?"

Gilbert shifted from foot to foot. Harry glanced and saw that he didn't look entirely comfortable being a silent witness to their exchange.

Harry shrugged, eyes remaining on the pockmarked stone flooring.

"You will apologize to Malfoy and his two associates and privately make amends as consequence for your thoughtless actions. Should you choose to strike him again, you will write a formal apology to the Malfoy family _and_ attend my godson for a month in recompense. Have I made myself clear, Potter?"

Harry's eyes popped open, and he glanced around at Gilbert, uncertainly.

"_Do you understand_?"

Nodding, Harry hated the thought of following Malfoy around to do his bidding.

"Moreover, were you a year older, you would have dueled Malfoy tomorrow evening and been served a humiliating defeat." Harry didn't question why Professor Snape had opted not to punish him in that way. "Instead, when the Malfoy heir offends you next, you will challenge him to a game of Wizard chess."

But Harry had never played chess before, let alone a Wizard's version of it. It was certain that he would lose against Malfoy. Professor Snape's lips curled into a nasty smile. "Tellwyenth will be your mentor. If you have any mind for strategy, he will find it."

"Sir?" Harry let slip in surprise.

"And if you win against him, Tellwyenth will teach you all the harmless curses and counter-curses you will need to know for dueling next year."

Gilbert startled. "Sir? That's hardly—"

"Is there a problem, Tellwyenth?" Professor Snape asked the Prefect menacingly.

"No, sir. What time should I make myself available?"

"At seven-thirty every Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday evening." Professor Snape's merciless black eyes drew back to Harry. "Potter, those nights you will serve your hour-long detention with Tellwyenth. There will be no detention on Thursdays. The remaining days of the week you will be with me."

Harry's demeanor perked up significantly, though he fought desperately to keep the joy from his face. "Yes, sir," he said a bit too quickly. If he beat Gilbert at Wizard chess, Harry would learn spells!

As if reading his mind, his Head of House sharply said, "Gilbert is a talented chess player. Don't fool yourself into thinking it will be easy."

Harry's joy was clipped a little, but he didn't see what the big deal was. It seemed strange that he would be punished by playing a game with the friendly prefect.

"Detention begins promptly at seven-thirty tomorrow night in the Potions lab."

Harry nodded.

"Ensure he finds his bed," Professor Snape directed dryly at the prefect and then turned on his heel, leaving the common room.

After several moments of silence, the two exchanged looks. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" the older Slytherin said as he led them to the staircase that would carry them up the Slytherin Tower.

Harry shook his head. They took the steps in silence, until they were nearly to the first-year boys' dormitory

"Before I forget, there's something I was tasked to tell you by the other prefects."

At the very top of the stairs, Harry paused in front of the last door.

"Behave yourself in Potions class. If you disrespect Professor Snape again, you will discover precisely how intolerable Hogwarts can be when one's House rejects you."

Taking Gilbert's warning to heart, Harry nodded silently. He doubted that the professor would change his bullying habits.

Pushing open the door to his shared room quietly, Harry saw that the green fire was out and that the others were fast asleep. There was the barest hint of moonlight to guide him to his bed. He quickly changed his clothes, crawled into his bed, and closed the curtains.

Tomorrow, he would apologize properly.

* * *

A week passed with an unending stream of meal times, social hours, homework, and detention. When Harry had apologized, Malfoy quite suddenly warmed up to him again. To make amends, Harry had to let Malfoy inspect his holly wand with a two-handed grip for a few tense moments. Harry's heart left his throat once his wand was safely returned to him. Next Thursday morning, Harry woke up to the unpleasantness of the grandfather clock incessantly screaming, "Harry Potter WAKE UP. WAKE UP. WAKE UP."

He quickly changed into his last set of clean robes, ones that Malfoy had insisted on Transfiguring the night before instead of letting Harry try to do it on his own. Harry carried his shampoo and soap down to the boy's communal showers in his old schoolbag. He quickly stripped and scrubbed himself down, rinsing before drying off under an enchanted showerhead. Most of the students waved their wands over themselves with some sort of Drying Charm that Harry hadn't been able to mimic yet. Harry slipped his clothes back on and then brushed his teeth at the handsink.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy's voice pierced through him.

Harry spat the foamy toothpaste into the sink and rinsed his mouth out. "Why don't you ask Miss Granger some time?" He shoved his hygienic supplies into the sack and carried them back upstairs. There were probably charms for teeth cleaning that wizards and witches regularly used, but Harry like the sensation of brushing his teeth.

Today, there would be a Double lesson with Gryffindors on the art of flying broomsticks. It took up the large free period Thursday afternoons. It was just what Harry had always wanted: to make a fool of himself in front of Malfoy, who already treated him like an invalid because he'd been raised by unpleasant Muggles. The very moment that Malfoy had learned how ignorant Harry was of wizarding ways when Harry apologized, the blond had been insufferable. After lofty comments of wizarding activities, Malfoy would turn pitying eyes upon Harry and say, "Oh, but you wouldn't know what I'm talking about," instead of clarifying or explaining anything.

Malfoy's favorite topic was flying. He talked about broomsticks almost as much as his family's celebrated pedigree. Several times he'd complained how unfair it was that first years never got on the House Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggle helicopters.

Harry wondered if Malfoy even knew what a helicopter was or if he was pretending to know something about Muggle technology because of Harry's knowledge of it. Harry certainly had spent some time making a doodle of the contraption to help explain how it worked to the girls in private.

Dutifully surrounded by Slytherins, Harry trudged upstairs to the Great Hall and sat between Nott and Sally-Anne.

Ever since Professor Snape had explicitly forbade Harry from visiting Hagrid's cabin, Harry hadn't had a single letter from Hagrid, something that Malfoy had been quick to notice. Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at their house table and then proceeded to share in exchange for future favors. Harry didn't fall for such an obvious tool of manipulation and refused Malfoy's sweets each time.

Come post time, Harry owl-watched. There weren't too many packages, but the letters were varied in color and shape, just like the owls. Harry would have liked to exchange correspondence with pleasant relatives. It was a shame that he didn't have any.

"It's a Remembrall!" Neville Longbottom, the lousiest potion brewer in Harry's Potions class, exclaimed excitedly from the Gryffindor table. The pudgy boy held up a glass ball the size of a very large marble. The rest of his voice was lost among the students, but Harry could see red smoke had filled the glass orb fairly quickly.

Quick as a wolf, Draco Malfoy simply plucked the Remembrall from Neville's upraised hand. Ron Weasley jumped to his feet, but their Transfigurations Professor had suddenly appeared.

After Professor McGonagall had talked to the students, Malfoy negligently tossed the Remembrall towards Longbottom.

Parkinson smirked, likely because Malfoy had scowled in a sulky manner all the way back to the Slytherin table. "Why are you messing with the Gryffindorks?"

"Oh shut it," Malfoy ordered, clearly not wanting to talk about it.

After breakfast, Harry was only too glad to re-enter the common room. He collected his leather schoolbag and spent study period in the library once again, this time with Bulstrode. Harry had turned in the first thick scroll and was now working on the second. It was brutal work as he slogged through the magical equivalent of classical literature and poetry and wrote half-foot essays about them.

It wasn't long before Harry noticed that Hermione was surrounded by stacks of books, which Ron Weasley had likely brought to her since he continued bringing her more.

It made Harry want to ask what they were up to. Unfortunately, Harry had learned about Bulstrode's dislike of Hermione Granger a few days prior; though he had no idea why they were at each other's throats, he knew better than to attempt friendly talk. The tasks Professor Snape had given him during detention were unpleasant enough to dissuade Harry from approaching the two Gryffindors.

The lunch bell tolled. Lunch period went by in a blur of delicious food. It had become somewhat of a tradition to wager among the Slytherins how many plates he would finish. His best yet was eleven, but that was after skipping dinner the previous Friday. It was this friendly sort of attention that Harry didn't mind.

When lunch was over, the Slytherin first years hung around in the Great Hall, knowing they'd have to go to the Hogwarts' grounds soon anyway.

At two-fifteen, Harry and the other Slytherin first years hurried to their 'first' flying lesson; only Harry had never mounted a broom among his housemates. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they stomped down the slope toward the smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the Forbidden Forest, whose trees were swaying darkly. Harry could make out Hagrid's cabin not much farther down.

There were brooms already laid out, and the Slytherins took the best ones of the bunch.

Suspicious at its performance, Harry looked down at his broom lying still on the grass. It was old and some of the tail twigs stuck out at odd angles. Nott had picked it out for him, so it couldn't be terrible... but it certainly looked dubious.

Ten minutes later, the Gryffindors were rushing across the lawn, clearly trying not to be tardy.

Then the professor, Madam Hooch, arrived very soon after, while the Gryffindors milled around chatting. She had short, grey hair and yellow eyes.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" She barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up!"

Once the Gryffindors had arranged themselves, Madam Hooch continued. "Stick out your right hand over your broom, and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" Everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped right into his hand at once, surprising him. He looked about and saw his was one of the few that had.

They were then taught the basics of mounting the broom, and then how to grip the handle properly. Madam Hooch walked up and down the rows correcting their holds on their broomsticks. Harry grinned when she told Malfoy that he'd been doing it wrong for years.

"Now, when I blow this whistle that is the signal. You will kick off _gently_ and then hover. When I give two signals, you are to tilt backward to land. Any questions?"

Before Madam Hooch could give the signal for them to practice hovering, Neville Longbottom suddenly took off.

"Come back boy!" She shouted, but Longbottom had shot into the sky like a cork out of a bottle. After only about half a minute, Harry saw the Gryffindor slide free from the broom. The black robes fluttered around him, his body helpless to the power of gravity. Harry's heart hammered in his chest as his brain tried to process what he was seeing.

WHAM! There'd been a nasty crack with that thud, and Longbottom lay face down on the ground in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher, lazily drifting towards the Forbidden Forest.

Having run over to check on him, Madam Hooch bent over Longbottom, her face as white as his.

"Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter, "Come on, boy—it's all right, up you get."

She turned to the rest of the class, which had circled around her and Longbottom.

"None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing!" She helped Longbottom up with a soothing tone, raking her yellow eyes over them. "If any of you are caught on a broom, you will be expelled without exception!"

Madam Hooch tucked a supportive arm around poor accident-prone Longbottom and led him towards the castle. He hobbled off with a tear-streaked face, clutching his wrist. Harry was relieved that it wasn't more serious.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Draco Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?"

Most of the Slytherins around Harry joined in. Harry's mouth thinned into a line. He really hated this side of his housemates.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" snapped Parvarti Patil.

"Cor, sticking up for Longbottom?" said Pansy Parkinson. "Never thought _you'd_ like fat little cry-babies, Parvarti."

"Look!" Malfoy said, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. "It's that stupid thing Longbottom's grandmother sent him."

The Rememberall glinted in the sun as he held it up.

"Give that here, Malfoy," Harry said quietly. He gave Malfoy a warning look.

Everyone stopped what they were doing to watch.

Malfoy smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find—how about—up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off.

Malfoy hadn't been lying. He could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called, "Come and get it, Potter!"

Harry grabbed his broom.

"No!" Sally-Anne shouted with sudden ferocity. "You've never even ridden a broom before! Besides, Malfoy might be able to talk his way out of losing house points, but you?"

Harry ignored her. Blood pounded in his ears. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared. Air rushed through his hair and whipped his robes out behind him. A rush of fierce joy sung through his body as he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught—this was _easy_, this was _wonderful._ He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls and admiring whoops from Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott from the ground.

Harry turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy in midair. Malfoy looked stunned.

"Give it here or I'll knock you off your broom!"

"Oh yeah?" Malfoy sneered after he recovered from the shock. Even so, Harry could tell he looked worried.

Grasping the end of the broom tightly, Harry leaned forward and shot towards Malfoy like a dart. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time. Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few students below were clapping in appreciation.

"No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Malfoy," Harry called out, smirking at the thought of knocking Malfoy off his broom.

The same thought seemed to have occurred to Malfoy at the same time. "Catch it if you can, then!" he shouted, throwing the Remembrall as hard as he could muster towards the castle.

Harry saw it, as though in slow motion. The glass ball rose up into the air and started to fall. He leaned forward, pointing his broom handle down—the next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball. The wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching. He stretched out his hand and, barely a foot from the ground, he caught it. He yanked the broom straight and toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

He breathed out, chuckling. A breeze tugged at his hair and the grass smelled fresh and sweet. This was—

"HARRY POTTER!"

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward their class. He got to his feet, trembling.

Harry turned to look at his housemates. They looked grimly at him. Malfoy was staring at him as if he couldn't quite figure him out.

"_Never_—in all my time in Hogwarts—" Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock and her glasses flashed furiously, "—how _dare_ you—might have broken your neck!"

"It wasn't his fault, Professor—"

"Be quiet, Miss Patil," the professor ordered at the Gryffindor.

"But Malfoy—"

"That's _enough_, Miss Granger!" The Gryffindor's Head of House sounded more exasperated than angry as if the act of her lions defending one of the Slytherins was particularly peculiar.

Feeling a sort of calm fill him, Harry dropped the broom on the ground and tossed the Rememberall to Ron Weasley, who was also looking at Harry as if he'd grown a second head.

"Fifty points from Slytherin." A hush fell upon the students. It was a grave matter indeed if Professor McGonagall was deducting so many points. "Potter, follow me now."

Harry wondered if the expulsion of the Boy-Who-Lived from Hogwarts would make whatever went for Wizarding news. Harry walked numbly behind her, hearing stunned silence behind him. This was his luck. Harry had only just learned he was a wizard and could do amazing things and now he was going to get expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend his actions, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice again, like what had happened when he'd woken up to find that his housemates had been searching for him.

Harry hadn't even lasted two weeks. He'd be packing his bags in ten minutes. What would the Dursleys say when he turned up on their doorstep? He couldn't imagine Professor Snape could do anything to help him stay away from his Muggle relatives now that he was a school dropout. Maybe there was an expulsion hearing that would take place first. He'd seen a film with one of those in it once. Maybe Harry had some time to figure out what he was going to do.

The old witch took the stairs down to the dungeons. Harry's stomach plummeted. Professor McGonagall stopped outside Professor Snape's classroom. "Excuse me, professor. There's an_urgent _matter that needs your immediate attention."

"Ms. Pitts, direct the class in my absence."

Harry's shoulders curled up on himself as he held his fingers together. He wondered if he was going to be caned. He'd been caned before, a long time ago. Magical folk probably had an anti-transfiguring enchantment they could put on canes to prevent them from turning into long peacock feathers.

When Professor Snape stepped out of the classroom, he gazed sharply at Harry. "What has the boy done now, Minerva?"

"He almost broke his fool neck! Madam Hooch asked me to cover her class since Longbottom had an unfortunate fall, only to find Harry Potter diving for a falling Remembrall on a broomstick. I deducted fifty points from his house for his foolhardiness."

"Diving for a Remembrall…?" Professor Snape asked slowly, dark eyes on Harry.

"He caught it after a fifty-foot dive. Didn't even scratch himself."

Harry blinked. _Hold on now_, he thought to himself. He thought he was in trouble, but what Professor McGonagall said sounded very close to praise.

"I've never seen anything like it, Severus. The boy's a natural."

Professor Snape tilted his head, eyes looking over Harry as if assessing him. "Your Gryffindor sense of fairness is going to lose you the Quidditch Cup, Minerva."

"Maybe when Potter is no longer a first year."

"As you say, Professor McGonagall. Thank you for bringing this to my attention." His eyes flicked to her, and he nodded respectfully. "If that is all...?"

Professor McGonagall nodded in return and went about her way, climbing the stairs out of the dungeons.

Harry suddenly felt the complete stillness of the empty hallway, when Professor McGonagall turned the corner. He didn't like to be left alone with his Head of House and was worried at the thoughtful look on his face. Was Professor Snape coming up with a creative punishment?

The professor smirked unpleasantly and then stepped into his Potions Lab. "Flint, get out here."

"Sir?" The massive sixth year, who'd wondered how Harry had gotten into the nook without a broom, looked curiously at Harry and then at Professor Snape. Harry saw that his name was Marcus Flint.

"Terence Higgs has a challenger for his Seeker position."

"Who? _Him_?" He said incredulously.

"Make the match-up this weekend. I'll talk to the headmaster. If Potter's not allowed to play, then Higgs will still play. Otherwise, Higgs will be the Reserve Seeker."

"He's not going to like that, sir."

"Then he better not lose the challenge," Professor Snape said down his nose.

Harry's mouth flapped open, realizing that Marcus Flint must be the Slytherin Quidditch Team Captain.

"Close your gob, Potter," Flint said, "before you catch a Wemblyfly."

Harry's teeth clicked together. Wemblyflies were a gruesome sort of fairy-tale creature that landed in a magical person's mouth and replaced their tongue, which then aired the person's most private thoughts.

"Get back in class," Professor Snape ordered to the sixth year.

Without question, Marcus Flint left them alone in the hallway again.

"Sir, I've never played Quidditch before…" Harry had consumed the books on Quidditch Professor Snape had assigned him with ease, but Harry hardly thought that made him qualified to play an important job like Seeker on a Quidditch team.

"Then, I expect you'll need to train hard, Mr. Potter."

"But, sir—!"

"Your _father_ was a great Chaser," Professor Snape suddenly snarled out. "I can hardly be surprised that you're a complete natural. You will serve out your detention with Mr. Flint on the weekends, starting tomorrow night. Until you receive permission from Professor Dumbledore, your feet are to stay firmly on the ground."

"Y-yes, sir." Harry tried not to sound alarmed. He wondered if his father had done something to Professor Snape. Maybe that was why the professor didn't like Harry.

In an instant, Professor Snape's coal-black eyes went back to their cold stare and his reddened cheeks had gone back to their normally pallor complexion. "Go to the common room and get your work done, Potter."

"Yes, sir," Harry said meekly, practically running down the hall.

He felt Professor Snape's eyes on him before Harry turned the corner to the out-of-the-way portrait hole. Harry told the portrait, "_Asphodel Root_." It swung open and he walked in.

The other first years were milling about worriedly.

Harry collapsed into an empty spot on the deep, black couch by the fire, needing the warmth to flush away the frigidity in his fingers and toes.

"Well," Malfoy drawled next to him. "When are you getting the train back to those Muggles?"

Harry glared at him. "You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground."

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Malfoy. "Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only—no contact."

Harry frowned deeply. Malfoy knew they weren't allowed to be out in the corridors after ten at night, and Harry had learned only one spell so far when he'd beaten Gilbert the one time: Expelliarmus.

"What's the matter? Afraid I'll beat you?"

"I'd need a second," Harry said grimly.

"Nott would be happy to, wouldn't you, Nott?"

Nott didn't look happy, but he nodded anyway.

Draco looked up at Crabbe and Goyle. "Crabbe will be mine." Crabbe grunted an assent. "We'll do it at midnight in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

"You shouldn't have illegal duels in the middle of the night."

They looked up. It was Sally-Anne Perks.

"You'll lose us House points—"

"You say a word about this, Perks—to anyone—and I'll make you regret it," Malfoy said hotly.

"Malfoy," Harry said through gritted teeth. "I'll bloody your nose again if you don't shut up."

"Ahem," Samantha Pitts cleared her throat, smiling. "Is there a problem, gentlemen?" She asked cheerfully, looking from face to face.

Harry saw that the other sixth years were streaming into the common room.

Malfoy and Harry glared at each other, and neither Nott, Crabbe, nor Goyle spoke up.

"Harry was defending my honor from Malfoy, Prefect Pitts. He threatened me," Sally-Anne said.

Though the prefect's smile grew wide, she narrowed her eyes at Malfoy, and he wriggled a little in his chair. "You have detention with Professor Snape tomorrow night, Draco Malfoy, seven-thirty sharp," she said lightly brushing her Prefect badge as she spoke.

"What?! With _Potter_?"

Pitts smiled broadly. "No, Potter is serving detention in another form."

"With who? Gilbert Van Tellwyenth?" Malfoy said snootily.

"No, with me," came Marcus Flint's deep voice.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he thought. "Why does he have any business with the Quidditch Captain—NO!" Malfoy swung around violently, shoving himself to his feet. "You're _not allowed_ to play! You're a first year!" He yelled at Harry.

"Once Professor Snape gets permission from the headmaster, Potter will challenge Higgs to be our next Seeker—" explained Flint.

"_YOU_?!" erupted from Malfoy so viciously that Harry thought he was going to get hexed. "You _must_ be joking!" He shouted, some spittle flecking Harry's glasses.

Harry looked at him impassively.

"WHEN MY FATHER HEARS OF THIS—!"

"What's the matter, Malfoy? Jealous of a Muggle-raised Half-Breed like me?" Harry said and that's when Malfoy's tantrum became a wordless roar of anger

Malfoy grabbed his wand from the belt of his trousers, but Harry was faster.

"_Expelliarmus!_" Harry cried and a red spark flew from his wand hitting Malfoy in the chest. Malfoy flew backwards, knocking a high-backed chair down behind him, right into Crabbe. Harry stared at his wand and then at Malfoy, amazed that the spell had hit him so hard and worried that he might get into trouble if Malfoy was hurt.

Not a moment later, Malfoy's pointed face popped up off the ground. It was red with fury. "Let go. _I'm fine_!" He yelled at Crabbe as he forced himself up.

Nobody had touched Malfoy's wand which had skittered clear to the other side of the common room, so the blond snatched Crabbe's wand out of the other boy's hand, pointed it at his own wand across the room and summoned it to him with a spell Harry had never seen before. "_Accio_ wand!" The sleek black wand hopped dutifully to Malfoy's hand, and he immediately pointed his wand at Harry, Crabbe's wand clattering to the floor. "Mark my words, _Potter_. You don't want to make an enemy of me." He threw off Goyle's concerned hand and stomped away angrily. Crabbe scrambled for his wand and then followed Goyle and Malfoy upstairs.

Harry took a deep breath and looked around. There had been a lot of Slytherins to witness that, and most of them were either amused or gave a respectful bow of their head towards Harry. He supposed that meant he wouldn't get into trouble…

"Good form, Harry," Gilbert said pushing through the crowd that had been drawn forward by the shouting. He patted Harry on the shoulder. "Good form."

"We've wanted to beat the little snot ever since he opened his mouth," a boy whose nametag stated Uchi Akimbo, "But we're not allowed to issue a challenge to housemates in a year below us."

Harry blinked.

"You seem surprised," said a smirking girl—Sadie Baldock, by her nametag. "Did you think we enjoyed being talked down to?"

"Er." Suddenly, Harry was overwhelmed by the sheer number of people around him. "Is it dinnertime yet?"

The entire crowd laughed as if he'd made a great joke.

"With you and your belly, Potter, I would have expected you to have grown at least in _some_ direction, but you're as twiggy as you were when you were first Sorted!"

"Twiggy? I'd say if he gets any skinnier none of us will be able to see him!"

Several laughed at that.

"Good one, Kartik!"

There was more laughter and finally the mixed-year crowd pulled away, going in different directions.

"Why do you look so lost, Harry?" Sally-Anne asked, picking up the high-backed chair that had been knocked over.

"Nobody seems upset that I lost fifty points."

"It's a short-term loss for a long-term gain," Nott said beside him.

"What?" asked Harry, mystified by his roommate's logic.

"You lost the house fifty points, but if you become a Seeker and you catch the snitch every game, not only do we receive a great many House Points for each game won, we'll win the Quidditch Cup, which will automatically add an additional hundred points. So really, it's going to be fantastic," Nott said enthusiastically.

"That and Draco Malfoy's not well-loved by people," Sally-Anne said seriously. "He uses his father's influence in the Ministry to threaten other students' families' livelihoods. He's really rotten."

"And he can't threaten me because I don't have family," Harry said quietly.

Sally-Anne gave him a careful smile. "You were absolutely brilliant in Madam Hooch's class today. You should have seen everyone's face when you harmlessly rolled off your broom after that steep dive."

"Yeah, it was brilliant," Nott agreed.

"Thanks." Harry didn't feel as if he was good enough to be Seeker, but he did know that he absolutely loved flying.


	6. Malfoy's Gifts

_**Author's Notes: **I just noticed that Harry had been so preoccupied about getting into trouble that the fact that the Slytherin House had been tasked to watch over him went right over his head. Draco's fury at not being allowed on the Quidditch Team should be noted.  
_

* * *

After a long Astronomy lesson with Professor Sinistra, Harry slumped onto his bed at the end of a long day, falling asleep nearly instantly. Nott shook him awake at the stroke of eleven. The other Slytherin had been to the trophy room before, so he'd lead them there once they left the Slytherin dormitories. They went down the stairs and found Malfoy and Crabbe waiting in the common room.

"We're less likely to get caught if we split up," Malfoy said with a smirk.

So they parted ways. Several times along the way Harry and Nott narrowly avoided Mrs. Norris.

Soon they were in the long corridor leading to the trophy room. They opened the door and stepped inside. Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet.

The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. The two boys edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once.

The minutes crept by.

"Tempus," Nott whispered. Numbers glittered in the room showing that it was a few minutes past the midnight hour. Seconds later, the glittering light faded away. "He's late."

A noise in the other room made Harry jump, raising his wand at the door as he heard someone speak—and it wasn't Malfoy.

"Sniff around, my sweet. They might be lurking in a corner." It was Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris.

"I should've known," Nott hissed. "Let's get out of here!"

Harry quickly followed him down a long gallery full of suits of armor.

"This way!" Nott hissed a little too loudly in the echoing corridor.

"Bloody students!" Filch cursed from afar.

Nott and Harry galloped down the hall. Harry had no idea why he was in the lead; he hardly knew where they were or where he was going! They ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway. Throwing themselves through its exit, they saw that they were near the Charms classroom, far away from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Harry panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead.

Nott was wheezing, obviously not in as good shape as Harry. "Do you know a shortcut to the dungeons from here?"

Harry shook his head in the moonlight. He was still angry that Malfoy hadn't showed; at this point Harry hardly cared that they were very close to being caught out of curfew. "Malfoy must have told Filch where we were."

Nott nodded and then they were jogging again.

They hadn't gone a dozen paces when a doorknob rattled and something came shooting out of a classroom in front of them.

It was Peeves, a transparent grey poltergeist. He squealed and cackled. "Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away," Nott said crossly.

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, dancing around to block their path. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Get out of the way!" Harry exploded, swiping his arm through the poltergeist. His arm felt like it had been dropped in freezing cold water.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!" bellowed Peeves.

Nott took off running, not caring that he had to run straight through the infernal poltergeist. Harry was right behind him, slipping through Peeves felt like jumping into a half-frozen pond. They ran right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door—and it was locked.

Peeves was still screaming at the top of his lungs. They knew they had seconds before Filch would appear.

Nott took out his long sandy-colored wand and tapped the lock. "Alohomora!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open—Harry and Nott piled straight in, shutting it quickly behind them.

It'd been very close. Harry could hear Peeves tease Filch outside the door. They were safe for the moment.

"Fantastic," Nott said weakly.

"What—!" Harry looked behind him. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare—this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.

They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor, the one they'd been forbidden from entering for mysterious reasons, which were no longer a mystery to the two boys.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes with three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction and three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

All six of its eyes were staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise. But soon it would fall out of its still stupor. Soon, it would attack.

Its thunderous growling vibrated the very air around them as Harry groped for the doorknob.

They fell backward, and Harry slammed the door shut on the snapping jaws.

He grabbed Nott to help him stand, and they both nearly flew down the corridor. They were more than awake now and more than happy to take any punishment that was their due so long as they didn't have to go back to that dangerous beast. Five flights of stairs down, they were finally at the Slytherin portrait.

"Asphodel Root!" Nott whispered.

"Sorry, the password's been changed," drawled the unapologetic portrait.

The two exchanged looks. They were done for if Professor Snape caught them outside their dorms after curfew!

The portrait swung open with a 'hmph!' and Sally-Anne motioned the two to step inside. "Hurry!" She whispered.

Just as the portrait shut behind them and they clambered down the steps, their greasy-haired professor glared at them domineeringly. "What," he said slowly, "are you buffoons doing out of bed?"

"Malfoy challenged me to a Wizard's duel in the trophy room at midnight. Nott was my second," Harry said quickly.

"Potter's challenger didn't show," Nott added.

"I opened the portrait for them, since I knew the password gets changed at midnight, sir," Sally-Anne said timidly.

"Without you, Miss Perks, Slytherin would have lost more house points. Five points to Slytherin. You're dismissed," Professor Snape said keeping his harsh eyes trained on Harry who started to move towards the stairs leading to the boys' dormitory. "Not you, Potter."

Nott seemed very calm next to fidgety Harry.

"I assume that Malfoy planned for you to be caught in retaliation for shaming him in the common room?" Professor Snape said with an arched eyebrow.

That made a twisted sort of sense as to why Malfoy had done it.

"Potter suggested that Malfoy was incapable of defending himself on a broom, which led to Malfoy issuing a challenge to duel him," Nott relayed sounding bored.

"I see," Professor Snape said. Their Head of House was eyeing them suspiciously. "How did you evade Argus Filch?"

"We knew some hidden passageways," Harry said lamely.

"Mr. Filch has been Hogwarts Caretaker for over twenty years. He knows the layout of Hogwarts better than anyone else alive, excepting the headmaster. Am I to understand that it was stupid luck that you were not caught?" Professor Snape said dangerously.

Nott sneezed suddenly and violently.

Professor Snape looked at Nott and then his eyes narrowed to little slits, jaw clenching. "You foolish," the professor began.

Nott sneezed again and then a third time.

"Imbecilic— gormless—twits!" A sneeze punctuated each of their professor's biting words.

Harry was starting to feel sorry for his housemate. "What's the matter with Nott, sir?"

"Mr. Nott is terribly allergic to all breeds of canine," Professor Snape said crossly, pulling a vial from his robes. He uncorked it and shoved the vial's contents into Nott's mouth. The sneezing stopped almost immediately.

Harry frowned and then gasped. "That's why you cast the Refreshening Charm on me! Because of Hagrid's boarhound."

Professor Snape re-corked the empty vial and placed it in his robes, still looking furious.

"Why are they keeping a thing like that locked up in a school? It acted like it was guarding something," Nott bit out, his eyes still watery.

Harry's eyes widened. What had Hagrid said? Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide—except perhaps Hogwarts. It looked as though Harry had found out where the grubby little package from vault seven thirteen had gone. He racked his brain. Had there been another door in the forbidden third-floor corridor? He didn't remember, since he'd spent his time looking at the three, drooly jaws with yellow, sharp teeth.

"Obviously," Professor Snape said, "I have to keep you so busy, Potter, that you can't find trouble. Every free period you possess has now been confiscated. You will have Independent Study in the Potions classroom until you have learned to think with your head instead of leaping into action like a bloody Gryffindor." Their Head of House pulled out a wand casting Refreshening Charm on their clothes. "Nott, you have detention with me for the next week. Your father will be notified of your unbecoming behavior."

"Yes, sir."

"Get to bed," their professor said with a half-growl.

Harry and Nott practically tripped over each other to get to the tower stairs. They ran until they reached the top.

The torches were still filled with green fire, and Malfoy looked up from the book he was reading. "Aw, pity," he murmured. Crabbe and Goyle were playing Wizard chess. As if nothing wayward had happened, Nott went to go sit with the two large boys placidly.

"Malfoy," Harry hissed angrily. Why wasn't Nott at least annoyed by Malfoy's trick? A thick letter flew at his face, and Harry caught it. "What's this?"

"A little gift to you," Malfoy said.

Harry yanked the folded parchment from the pre-opened letter that was addressed to Malfoy. He unfolded it, reading the elegantly flourished loops and decorative lines of calligraphy:

Dearest Draco,

I have forwarded your concerns to the Office of Ward-ships for Underage Wizards and Witches. They have assured me that they will do everything in their power to place your friend into a loving Magical Home should your accusations of mistreatment be found accurate. I am surprised that your godfather has not already turned in the appropriate documentation if that is the case. However, as all-knowing as he often appears to be, I know that even he makes mistakes.

Nevertheless, a close associate of mine within the Ministry said a formal investigation will be put into motion, due to evidence at your friend's primary school in Little Whinging, Surrey. An Order of Silence has been put into effect as you can imagine how this would affect your friend's reputation if the allegations were proved false.

If there's anything else I could do for my darling son, I am only an Owl away.

With love,

Narcissa Malfoy

Harry had to read it four times before he had a grasp of what the letter was implying. He sat down heavily on his bed all his anger blowing out of him. "Why would you do this?" The thought of never having to return to the Dursleys ever again should have brought Harry great joy, not the deep suspicion he felt.

Malfoy closed the book he'd been reading and set it aside. "Did you really think that none of us would figure it out?"

"What?" Harry said dumbly.

"We are not idiots, Potter. Anybody who'd bothered to unravel the signs could see that you suffered at the hands of those Muggles tasked to raise you."

Harry shook his head a little. "You and I aren't friends, so don't pretend you did this for my benefit, Malfoy. That's why I asked why." Harry watched the other boy, thinking that if he did it long enough Malfoy's true reason would spill out.

"Can't even accept a nicely-wrapped lie, can you?" Malfoy let out an irritated sigh. "Very well. I've always liked unscrambling cryptographs and you were trying to keep one hidden from me."

"A cryptograph?"

"A coded secret, a veiled enigma. In short, an obscured mystery. You didn't want anybody to see what those Muggles had done to you and so you attempted to cover up any trace of wrongdoing. I certainly understand why. I wouldn't want anyone to know if I'd been raised by neglectful Muggles, especially after ten horrid years with them and no one noticing."

Harry was looking at him again trying to figure him out. "That may be why you looked closer, but it doesn't explain why you didn't use it against me or why you would tell your mother."

Draco lifted his grey eyes and said straightforwardly, "Obviously I had to appeal to my mother when my father didn't seem sympathetic to your plight. As for why I did it, you're the first person to have stood your ground with me instead of scraping the floor and sniveling like some beggar."

"What?" Harry stared at him like Malfoy had gone daft.

"That letter's my offer of truce, you lout," Malfoy said. "We should be friends. Perhaps best friends."

"I don't even like you," Harry blurted out. He looked over to the other three Slytherin boys but they looked completely engaged with their match of Wizard chess and would be no help at all.

Malfoy's grin grew wider. "Then we're even closer friends than I thought."

Harry tossed the letter back at Malfoy, which the other boy caught. "I don't think you understand how much I loathe it when use the word Mudblood and say Muggle like it's something offensive!"

Malfoy continued to smirk. "Potter, if you hated me that much you wouldn't have used only a Disarming Charm on me even though I was about to send you to the infirmary."

Harry would have used worse if he'd known anything else. He wasn't about to tell Malfoy that. At the moment, Harry's mind was uncooperative, rebelling at the thought of being friends with a bully. What's more, how had he won Malfoy's respect without even trying? "If you thought that, why'd you set Mr. Filch on me and Nott?"

"That was to get you back, of course. You didn't think you would get away with making me look like a fool in front of everyone, did you?" Malfoy sounded bored. Professor Snape must know his godson very well to have predicted Malfoy's motivation so exactly.

"What if I don't want to be your friend?" Harry said slowly.

"Then it's going to be a long seven years at Hogwarts, isn't it?"

Harry sighed loudly, tearing off his outer-robes. He opened his trunk to grab his jim-jams and found instead something that looked like a nightie. "What is this?" He picked it up and shook it at Malfoy.

"You were wearing worn-out rags. I merely asked my mother if she could special order something from Madam Malkin's. They had your measurements on record," Malfoy said with an air of superiority.

Harry wanted to strangle him with the blasted thing.

"It serves you right. You really shouldn't keep your trunk unlocked."

With a disgusted noise, Harry threw the night robes back into the trunk and slammed it shut. He took off the rest of his clothes, except for his socks and Y-fronts, and left them on the floor. He hopped into his bed, pulling the curtains close, and crawled under the covers.

"Good night, Potter," Malfoy said quietly.

Without responding, Harry stuck his pillow onto his head and refused to give in to the urge to scream.

* * *

The next day, Ron Weasley and the other first-year Gryffindors could hardly believe that Harry Potter hadn't been expelled for his wicked maneuvering over the Hogwarts lawn. Some of them grinned at him and others waved shyly. Weasley only glowered at Harry as if he'd personally done something to him, but his scowls could have been directed at Draco Malfoy who had thus far refused to leave Harry's side.

What Harry wished more than anything was to talk to someone about the two inch object hiding somewhere beyond the three-headed dog. He woke up in the middle of the night again after another nightmare of Professor Quirrell's turban strangling him to death for disobeying it. Harry couldn't fall back to sleep after that.

Harry ate breakfast silently, ignoring Malfoy outright, and barely responded to anyone else. His appetite was nothing like it usually was, yet he didn't want to be caught with his mouth empty since he didn't fancy talking at all right now.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him, knocking the bacon from his hand to the floor. The birds had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Harry ripped open the letter first, which was good, since it was from Professor Snape with an express warning of not opening his package in front of everyone and a reminder that Marcus Flint would be on the Quidditch field at seven-thirty that night.

Harry took a long look at the obviously wrapped broomstick, wishing he knew which model it was. A Cleansweep Two-Sixty wouldn't be unwanted at all. He couldn't quite contain his glee, even after Malfoy snatched the letter from his hands. "Oi! Give that back, Malfoy."

"Honestly, he didn't even say who sent it." Malfoy tsked. "It's just like my godfather really."

"What?" Harry thought his world had gotten a shade less ecstatic. "Do you know who sent it?"

"My father did."

Harry wanted to refuse it, but found he couldn't. "Thanks," he managed tersely.

Draco Malfoy glowed as if he'd won the lottery. "You're most welcome, Potter."

Since he was done eating, Harry got up, intent on unwrapping the broom as quickly as possible before his first class,. Halfway across the corridor, he found his path to the dungeons had been blocked by Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, who was Longbottom's Potions partner, and—Harry peered at the nametag—Blaise Zabini.

"What you got there, Harry?" Neville Longbottom asked eagerly. "Can I see it?"

Harry paused when a relative stranger used his first name, and then realized a little belatedly that he was alone in the hall. "Not right now. I've got to go to my room. I forgot something."

Longbottom nodded understandingly and stepped aside, but Zabini stepped in his place, eyeing Harry up and down. "I thought for sure that you'd be expelled. How come you get a broom for breaking rules?" He asked rudely.

Harry stared at the Gryffindor, who in Potions was typically very quiet. Harry wondered what he'd done to make him so angry. "Professor McGonagall said I was a natural," he said concisely.

"Och! I bloody hate Slytherins, always sneaking about never getting into any sort o' trouble," Finnigan said offhandedly.

Suddenly, Harry had a very bad feeling about this entire situation.

"What are you talking about? Harry's different!" Longbottom stared at the other two like they were nutters.

"Only so that the rest of our House would trust him! Don't be taken in by him, Neville," Zabini said angrily.

"I thought I was going to get expelled," Harry said firmly.

Zabini's expression was only filled with malice. "You see? Potter's appealing to our emotions. He acts like the public would allow the Boy-Who-Lived to get expelled from Hogwarts."

"But he's nice; and he got my Rememberall back for me," Longbottom insisted.

"He's just acting nice, Neville, to learn our weaknesses. Next thing you know, he'll share them with his mates to harass us," Zabini stated evenly.

Finnigan snorted, "It's decided then. We'll just be taking that broom off your hands."

Ice gripped Harry's middle. Nobody had ever told him that Gryffindors were such bullies! "No," he said firmly.

"Would you rather get hexed?" Zabini said seriously.

"You guys, I thought we were just going to have a talk with him. Nobody said anything about hexing anybody," Neville said looking a little green. Poor Neville Longbottom wouldn't hurt a fly.

"You can bleeding well try me, but you aren't taking the broom," Harry snarled, his hand going to the wand in his pocket.

"What do you know," a high-pitched, nasal voice said, "A bunch of Gryffindorks ganging up on a single Slytherin? That's hardly fair or brave."

Harry backed away from the Gryffindors, clutching his wrapped broom. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed that Crabbe and Goyle were with Malfoy. For once, it was nice to have them nearby.

"Malfoy," Finnigan hissed.

Malfoy grinned. "Oh dear, it seems someone's spitting mad because they aren't a virtuoso at flying to get granted an exemption to join their House Quidditch team."

"Boys, not arguing, I hope?" Professor Flitwick squeaked, suddenly appearing by Malfoy's elbow.

"Potter's got a broom!" Finnigan pointed at Harry's still-wrapped package.

"Yes, yes, that's right," Professor Flitwick said, beaming at Harry. "Professor Snape mentioned it in passing. And what model is it?"

Harry fidgeted, not knowing. "Err…" He looked at Malfoy.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," Malfoy said with great relish, as a dark look of envy crossed Finnigan's face. Harry nearly choked. That was the top broom currently on market!

"Ah, excellent! I can't wait to see it in action. Hurry along, hurry along, classes are about to begin," the Charms Professor said.

Harry turned to leave with the trio of Slytherins.

"I see you've become Malfoy's newest toebiter," Zabini said disdainfully at Harry's back.

"Now, now. Settle down, or I'll take house points away," Professor Flitwick's voice said sternly.

The Slytherins left downstairs.

"Don't stress too much over Zabini," Malfoy said as they walked together. "I've heard from my father that Zabini's parents were terribly disappointed that he was Sorted into Gryffindor. I say to that, better he was a Lion than a Badger."

Harry nearly tripped. So he wasn't the only one that the Sorting Hat had refused. Zabini must have wanted to be placed in Slytherin if his unjustified anger at Harry meant anything at all.

After the wrapped broom was safely put in his room—because the bullies had eaten up Harry's time—he had to go to class.

Harry had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on the Potions lesson that day and the work he had to get done during Independent Potion Studies after that. His mind kept wandering into his dormitory where his new broomstick was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where he'd be learning to play that night.

He scarfed down his dinner later, hardly caring about his manners, and then rushed downstairs to the Slytherin House and then up the stairwell to the dormitories. Nott jogged behind him as Harry took the steps two at a time.

Inside the dormitory, Harry stared at the broom after he'd unwrapped it on the green duvet. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

"It's really something, isn't it?" Nott said reverentially.

"Yeah," Harry murmured, running his hands against the handle.

"Harry… I mean—"

"It's fine. As long as I get to call you Theodore," Harry said. He wished he wouldn't have to go through that with every Slytherin. It seemed like a pointless waste of time.

"Call me Theo and it's a deal." Theodore looked down at his hands. "May I ask a personal question?"

"Sure," Harry said, wishing it was seven-thirty already.

"Why do you do things that are not for your benefit?"

"How do you mean?" asked Harry.

"You fought Malfoy over a Rememberall and then gave it back to the Gryffindors."

"Malfoy was being an arse and a bully. Those are two things I can't stand in a person," Harry answered honestly.

"So, you weren't doing it to give the Gryffindors a positive impression of you?"

"Theo, haven't you ever wanted to do something for someone just because it was the right thing?" Harry asked, curious to know his answer.

"Rarely," he admitted. "But when I do, I get scorned and ridiculed. My family's always been in Slytherin you see."

"Who cares what people think?"

Theodore blinked owlishly. "Everyone. If you screw up, your reputation follows you for the rest of your days."

"Harry Potter, DETENTION! DETENTION! DETENTION!" The clock screamed.

Harry scooped up his broom, holding it tightly against his shoulder. "I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, famous over nothing I really did. If there's something you want to do, I get the feeling you should just go do it."

Yelling 'I heard you the first time!' at the clock, Harry rushed down the tower stairs; behind him, Theodore followed. Soon he left the castle and set off in the dimming orange-red sunlight over the field.

On the Quidditch Pitch, there were many very tall stands with hundreds of seats in each one. Harry understood that they'd have to be that tall so that the seated spectators would be closer to the action. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end. They reminded Harry of the little plastic sticks Muggle children blew bubbles through, except that these poles were fifty feet high.

Too eager to fly to wait for Marcus Flint to appear, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. What a feeling—! He swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch. It was a far cry from the school's old broom. He saw Theodore standing on the pitch, so Harry dove towards him, turning away at the last instant and spiraling sideways to gain altitude once again.

Theodore had fallen back with a curse and then whooped as Harry began to take ever more daring turns and twists.

"Potter!" Flint yelled. Beside him was another student who was lean and wiry. Flint was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm, and the other person was carrying a nice broom. Harry landed softly next to them.

"Professor Snape wasn't kidding when he said you could challenge Higgs." Flint gestured towards the wiry student with the name Terence Higgs embroidered on the front of his robes. "He's graduating once this year is over, won't you Higgs?"

"You have raw talent," the light tenor voice said with a chuckle. "You'll make an excellent addition to our Quidditch team."

"But I haven't done anything yet."

"No, not yet," Terence agreed, but his eyes were alight with amusement.

"LUMOS!" Almost a hundred voices cried lighting the darkening field with their wands. Harry looked up. He hadn't noticed that he'd acquired spectators in the stands.

Flint opened the crate, ignoring the two wriggling Bludgers and bright red Quaffle. "You know what a Seeker does, right Harry?"

"They catch the Golden Snitch."

The Quidditch Captain unhooked the large, walnut-sized golden orb. It unfurled and fluttered up, flitting side to side.

"Seekers are you ready?!" Flint bellowed.

Harry mounted his broom again next to Higgs.

"GO!"

Harry's eyes had been on the golden little orb the entire time. He kicked off and leaned into the broom. The glittering Snitch flew out of the way, weaving in and out of the stands with Harry hot in pursuit. It suddenly flung itself high above his head, and Harry immediately gave chase flipping his broom in a loop-de-loop as he followed, inciting screams from the watching crowd. Within moments, the Golden Snitch was in his hand and his housemates cheered raucously.

His heart beating hard in his ears, Harry floated the broom down. It was then that he realized that Higgs hadn't even left the ground.

The seventh-year Slytherin gave him a crooked grin. "If you perform that well during the games, I don't mind sitting on a bench, tyke."

Harry flushed in embarrassment, handing the Golden Snitch to an equally gleeful Quidditch Captain.

"We're going to crush the opposition," Flint said menacingly.

Harry hoped Flint wasn't talking literally.


	7. Troll Trouble

_**Author's Notes: **Harry and Draco's current 'friendship' is a fantastic example of the term 'frenemy'. At least Harry has the sense not to lower his defenses completely despite Draco's overtures.  
_

**_Edit_** **27-03-2014**_: Due to some confusion about Snape's willingness to go along with Hermione's lie, I added in a scene right after Draco and Harry leave the bathroom to help readers extrapolate why Snape did it._

* * *

Perhaps it was because he was now so busy with Quidditch practice nearly every day of the week and normal Potions detention any other 'free' night that Harry could hardly believe that he'd been at Hogwarts for two months. The castle felt more like home than Privet Drive ever had. His lessons, too, were becoming much more interesting now that he mastered the basics.

Because of his constant stream of detentions, Harry missed the monthly duels that were supposed to be entertaining. However Harry hadn't minded it. He definitely preferred to learn how to use curses and counter-cursers rather than stand and watch them get performed, which was why—even though the original detention period with Gilbert was over—Harry still met with the prefect for a friendly game of chess Thursday nights before Astronomy class when Harry had neither practice or detention. He won in a third of the games now, and Gilbert taught Harry one new spell each time he did. Not all of them were defensive or offensive in nature, either. Harry's favorite was learning how to do a Switching spell. He wouldn't even need to change his clothes by hand if he didn't want to.

Most other nights, when Harry wasn't going through endless flying drills to sharpen his reflexes and reaction times, he learned how to play Quidditch the Slytherin way. Harry especially had an appreciation for learning strategy ever since Gilbert had taught him how to play Wizard's chess. At the same time, Harry wasn't very happy that the Slytherin Team's strategy was to get as close to fouling as possible without getting called on it. It hardly seemed sporting.

It was Halloween morning, when Harry woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting into the dormitory. Even better, Professor Snape wasn't as nasty as he usually was during Double Potions. In fact, the adult seemed rather distant, which Harry thought was odd since the unsympathetic Potions professor was usually quite vicious to his Gryffindor pupils, especially to the hapless Neville Longbottom.

They had a simple Pepper-Up Potion to brew, using Wiseman's Sage. Malfoy could have easily done all the work, but he was letting Harry do a lot of the simpler things, savoring it when he got to correct Harry's mistakes. Soon their two bubbling cauldrons—ever since Malfoy decided they'd be mates, Harry was always technically paired with Goyle and Malfoy with Crabbe—were simmering and they had nothing to do for fifteen minutes.

It appeared that Hermione and Ron's cauldron was bubbling as it should too, except Weasley had a scowl permanently affixed to his face. In fact, by Harry's estimate, their potion needed only another few minutes before it was done.

"You like her, Potter?" Malfoy asked slyly with a thoughtful finger under his chin.

"Oh shove off, Malfoy," Harry growled.

"What's not to like? She's brainy and talented beneath all that hair," Theodore said farther off, waiting for his brew to finish with Sally-Anne, who seemed amused at the turn in conversation.

Malfoy whispered, "I bet she's the strongest witch among first years."

"I thought you hated 'her type'," Harry said, baffled at Malfoy's prodding.

"We aren't living in the seventeenth century anymore," he responded cryptically.

"And since you're the last Potter, a powerful witch matters more than bloodline purity," Theodore added.

"No one says you need to marry her sort, of course," Malfoy supplemented.

"Marry—?" Harry's knife nearly sliced his finger. "Hermione's my friend," he said with gritted teeth, "So you and Theo should shut up and finish the lesson before—" Harry fell silent when Professor Snape came out of his back storage room, passing by each cauldron with an expression amounting to stinkeye.

By the time he arrived at Hermione's station, she was ladling the warm potion into a vial and setting it on a rack to cool. Professor Snape looked at it dispassionately. "Five points to Gryffindor for an excellent example of careful brewing."

Hermione beamed, while Weasley's moody expression grew even darker.

Professor Snape moved on, his robes sweeping the floor. Neville and Finnigan's cauldron looked to be a mess of nothing. "Ten points from Gryffindor for making a complete mockery of the potion-making craft." As each potion finished, Professor Snape awarded points—Zabini and his partner earned five points, too—or if the potions weren't perfect and belonged to Gryffindors he took them away. Harry and Malfoy's potions were awarded ten points each, something that Malfoy immediately began to brag loud enough that the Gryffindors near them could hear. Harry sighed.

After they cleaned up their stations, they were dismissed, and Professor Snape returned to his office.

"God, no one can stand her," Weasley's voice complained to Finnigan in the crowded corridor, "She's a bloody nightmare, honestly."

Someone knocked into Harry as whoever tried to hurry past. It was Hermione. Harry caught a glimpse of her face—and was startled to see that she was in tears.

"Hermione! I think you're brilliant," he called, but she kept going, either because she hadn't heard him or didn't care in her distressed state.

Malfoy and the other boys sniggered at Harry.

"When can we expect your first date?" Nott teased.

"Oh sod off, all of you!" Harry growled. Even so, he worried about Hermione. Ron didn't have to be such an arse to someone in his own house!

It wasn't until much later—long after Harry had finished his Independent Study with a distracted Professor Snape—during dinner that Harry noticed that Hermione wasn't at the table of Gryffindors in the Great Hall. The space had been decorated with a fantastical Halloween theme.

"Where's Granger?" He asked Sally-Anne.

Her eyes widened slightly. "Sorry, Harry. I don't know. "

"Worried about her, Potter?" Parkinson teased good-naturedly. "Don't worry. I overheard Patil tell her friend Brown that Granger's crying in the girl's restroom just down the hall and didn't want to be bothered."

Harry wanted to go check on her right away. Just as Harry stood up, Professor Quirrell came running in, his turban askew and terror on his face. The professor reached the High Table and slumped against it. "TROLL! I-in the dungeons—thought you ought to know," his high, reedy voice cut off suddenly as he fell to the floor in a dead faint.

Pandemonium erupted. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence to the Great Hall.

"All students are to follow their prefects in a calm and orderly fashion to their respective houses, immediately," the headmaster stated calmly.

The Slytherins exchanged glances. If the troll was in the dungeons, they might end up walking right past it!

Nobody from the Gryffindor table seemed to notice that one of their students was missing as they headed their merry way out the door.

"Malfoy!" Harry hissed.

"What?" The pale-skinned boy looked back distractedly.

"Granger doesn't know about the troll."

A flicker of irritation crossed Malfoy's face, likely because he knew precisely what Harry was about to ask of him.

"I'll owe you one," Harry said hurriedly.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Crabbe, Goyle. Tell the prefects we've gone to the loo."

The two thick-set boys nodded.

"Good luck, Harry," Theodore whispered and then winked. "Oh Merlin!" He gasped looking down the hallway dramatically. "Is—is that the— TROLL?!"

Every single Slytherin looked down the shadowy passageway, completely distracted as Malfoy and Harry took off towards the girl's loo down the deserted side corridor. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

"Snape!" Malfoy hissed, pulling Harry behind a large stone griffin.

Sure enough—as Harry carefully peered around it—their Head of House crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

"What's he doing?" Harry murmured. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?"

"Have no idea," Malfoy muttered.

Quietly as possible, Harry crept along the next corridor after Professor Snape's fading footsteps.

"Are you insane, Potter?" Malfoy said snidely next to him.

Harry peeked around the corner and then drew back. "Those stairs lead straight to the third floor," he told him, but Malfoy held up a hand.

"Do you smell that?"

With a heavy sniff, a foul stench reached Harry's nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seemed to clean. He gagged a little. "What is that?"

"Troll," Malfoy said simply.

Then they heard it—a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Malfoy took out his wand, pointing. There was a very slight tremor to his hand. Harry decided to take his wand out, too. At the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving towards them. The both of them immediately shrank back into the shadows and watched, captivated, as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was the most grotesque thing Harry had ever seen. Twelve feet tall, its skin was dull, granite grey, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a small coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The stench was incredible. Harry was glad he had hardly anything for dinner because he might have vomited right then. The troll held a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor since its arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, and then slouched slowly into the room.

"There's a key in that lock," Harry muttered, "We could lock it in."

Malfoy's face was stony as he stared at Harry like he was stupid. "Potter, that's the girls' restroom."

At a shriek of terror pealing from the bathroom, Harry gasped, "Hermione!" He rushed for the door, dodging Malfoy's attempts to stop him and yanked it open.

Inside, Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she were about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the wall as it went.

Harry looked around for anything to use. He yanked his shoe off and threw it at the troll's head. "Oi!" The troll stopped its path of destruction just a yard from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what made the noise. Its angry little eyes saw Harry. It hesitated, and then made for him instead, lifting its club as it went.

"You! You filthy creature!" Malfoy bellowed from the other side of the chamber. Then a large metal pipe went flying. Just like the shoe, the troll didn't seem to notice, but it heard the yell and turned its snout towards Malfoy. Harry hurried over to Hermione, trying to pull her toward the door, but she didn't budge.

"Come on, run! RUN!" Harry yelled at Hermione. Her mouth was open in terror.

The shouting and resulting echoes caused the troll to grunt loudly. It roared, wildly swinging its club about.

Malfoy screamed, "It's gone berserk!"

Seeing that his roommate was cornered and unable to escape, Harry then did something that was both very brave and very stupid, and so very un-Slytherin. He took a great running jump and fastened his arm around the troll's neck from behind. Of course the troll couldn't feel a thing, and Harry almost wanted to faint by how foul the creature was close up. However, Harry's wand was in his hand as he jumped. To put it bluntly, even a troll will notice when a wand's tip is rammed up its nose.

Howling in pain, the troll twisted and flailed its club ineffectually. Harry clung for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him off or catch him a terrible blow with the club.

Malfoy had sunk to the floor in wide-eyed fright, but Hermione stood up straight having shaken her fear off like a great-maned cat would with water. "Wingardium Leviosa!" The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over—and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Harry was glad the troll had fallen face-first, or he'd been crushed. Shaking and winded, he tiredly pushed himself to his feet. Hermione still stood there, her wand trained on the knocked out troll.

"It's not dead yet," Malfoy said in a half-whimper. "Trolls only die if you burn them for hours."

Harry bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. It was covered in what looked like lumpy grey glue.

"Urgh, troll boogers."

He wiped it on the troll's ragged and filthy trousers. His wand shot out tiny gold sparks in response. He blinked at it, when a sudden slamming door and loud footsteps scuffing to a halt caused all three of them to look up.

Professor McGonagall stood closest to them a hand against her mouth in shock, Professor Snape and Professor Quirrell right behind her.

Professor Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet in a decimated stall, clutching the place above where his heart would be.

Professor Snape was glaring at Harry, having barely glanced at Malfoy. "What on earth were you thinking, you little twit!" Cold fury was in his voice. Harry looked to Hermione who had lowered her wand arm. "Once again, you are exceedingly lucky! A troll's favorite diet is the meat and marrow of human children," Professor snarled savagely. "You brought my godson along with you too! Have you no shame, Potter?"

With a large amount of guilt, Harry looked down at the floor. He'd only wanted to help Hermione. Malfoy was still on the ground and said absolutely nothing in Harry's defense. Harry distantly wondered if the fear had fried his brains.

Professor McGonagall looked over the troll.

"Please, don't be angry at them, Professor Snape. They were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall sounded positively scandalized.

She nodded. "I went looking for the troll because I thought I could… deal with it on my own. You know, because I've read so much about them."

Malfoy turned his head sharply towards Hermione. This girl wasn't even in his house and yet she was lying on their behalf? 'Preposterous!' Malfoy must be thinking. Harry saw it clearly on the other Slytherin's face.

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead, professors." Hermione took a deep breath. "They didn't have time to go and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Harry sent a warning glare towards Malfoy. They both carefully tempered their expression as Professor Snape turned to them. "Is this true?" He asked slowly, black eyes burning.

"Yes, professor," Malfoy chimed in, finally standing and disdainfully brushing off his dusty black robes and trousers without putting much effort into it. "She went off on her own and nearly got herself killed."

Harry nodded in agreement, not trusting his voice. It was true that she almost died. Professor Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry.

"Miss Granger, you foolish girl! How could you have thought that you could tackle a mountain troll all on your own!?" Professor McGonagall brutally said.

Hermione hung her head in contrition.

"Miss Granger, ten points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. You'd better get off to Gryffindor Tower if you're not hurt. Students are finishing their dinner with their house."

Without a backwards glance, Hermione left.

"They're all yours, Severus." Professor McGonagall's pleased eyes swept over the boys, and then she turned and exited as well. Professor Quirrell continued to whimper staring at the unconscious troll on the ground.

"I do not award points for putting yourselves in harm's way, but for saving the life of a fellow student…" Professor Snape's lips twitched into a smirk. "Twenty points to Slytherin. You may join your housemates in the common room."

The two boys immediately departed, leaving the two adults to deal with the troll.

Something was bothering Harry though... "We lied to Professor Snape, and he didn't notice."

Draco had an abbreviated laugh. "No, Potter, he knew. He also knew that Granger was lying through her teeth."

"Then... why would he ask you if she was telling the truth or not?"

The other Slytherin smirked. "My godfather wanted to know whether I would play along with Granger's account or not. It's not everyday that you see a Gryffindork lying to authority in order to keep us Vipers out of trouble. It's almost always the other way around."

Harry frowned. It made absolutely no sense to him why an adult would cooperate with a child's lie-telling, but decided not to ask. Neither of them had gotten into trouble and they'd been awarded points; so, it wasn't really something he should be bothered about, right?

They finally entered the dungeons. It was a relief to be away from the stench of troll, a relief that they'd managed to stay alive.

"My father's going to be displeased with me if he hears of this," Malfoy said unhappily.

"Whatever for? You just saved her life."

"He'll only see that I stopped the natural course of things for a Muggle-born witch. He'll be furious. It's why my godfather looks so delighted. I'm sure he'll tell my father at once of my heroic actions."

"Granger did get us out of trouble with the teachers," Harry pointed out.

"I am completely at a loss about that," Malfoy admitted dryly, "By all accounts, it's your fault. For her to stick her neck out like that means she must like you more than she hates me."

Harry didn't argue with the logic. "Maybe she lied because she thought it was the right thing to do. We did save her from getting clubbed to death."

Malfoy sighed sadly. "You don't understand how girls think, Potter."

"Girl troubles?" came a derisive, feminine tone. They had arrived at the Thin Woman's portrait.

"Liverwort," Harry said, and the portrait opened with a scoff and a flutter of her fan

The common room was packed with two long tables taking up the space in the middle. Everyone was eating the relocated feast. Nobody really took notice of them, until the two boys tried to sit down.

"Ugh! I smell troll!" Prefect Pitts complained.

The Slytherins' conversations stopped and they stared at the two boys covered in grime and slime.

"Come on, Potter! Let's get cleaned off so we don't spoil the meal for these weak-stomached lumps!" Malfoy said imperiously.

"You didn't…" Theodore said weakly, "Tell me you didn't go looking for the troll."

"We didn't go looking for a troll," Malfoy bragged, "We only saved a hapless Miss Granger from certain death!"

Everyone's faces seemed frozen in disbelief. Harry laughed at how silly they looked.

With a smirk, Malfoy patted Harry's shoulder. "Ready then?"

Chuckling, they headed to the Boys' showers. Harry hoped this wasn't the start of a new friendship. He still didn't like Malfoy and didn't trust Malfoy's intentions a bit. Then again, not just anyone would be willing to stand their ground and help knock out a twelve-foot mountain troll.

Maybe Malfoy isn't so bad, Harry thought.


	8. The Potter Ploy

_**Author's Notes: **_We've reached the halfway point. Hope you've enjoyed the journey so far!_  
_

* * *

As they entered mid-November, the dungeons outside the Slytherin House were increasingly chilly. The mountains around the school became icy grey, and every morning, the lake view from the common room took on a clearer, lighter green shade, though Harry had less time to appreciate it with the darker, shorter days.

Smiling to himself, Harry remembered that he would be playing his first match against the Gryffindor Team this Saturday to kick off the start of the Quidditch season.

Hardly anyone outside of Slytherin had seen how well Harry could use a broom, besides those first clumsy attempts seen by the first-year Gryffindors. He had been announced as Slytherin's new Seeker over a week ago; most of the school thought he'd be brilliant, while the rest hoped he fell to his death.

The Slytherin House had been the reigning Quidditch Champions for years, and the rumor of Harry's exceptional flying skills had been met with anger, especially by the Gryffindors. Even if Harry had wanted to travel alone in the corridors, it was completely impossible now because of the threatening notes that had been written anonymously to him. Whenever Harry completed his time in the Potions lab he was always escorted by several older years to his next destination. He never had a chance to fraternize with the wrong sort, though he really would have preferred to do without Malfoy's smug snobbery than be bothered to know if someone's assigned house or blood purity were the right sort.

Thankfully for Harry, the other Slytherins in his year understood how busy he was and respected his wish not to simply copy and turn in their homework. In Independent Potions, Harry wasn't allowed to work on class assignments; instead, he spent his time preparing and pickling various parts of plants. Consequently, his fingers were often stained with different colors as he worked on the assigned essays with either Malfoy, Parkinson, or Sally-Anne, depending on their strongest area of knowledge.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was, surprisingly, the easiest of the six classes because homework was rarely assigned and when it was it was ridiculously easy. Just last week they had to answer, 'What do most beings of Darkness fear?', with a couple inches worth of parchment when the other teachers required at least a foot worth of parchment. Harry thought the answer had been obvious: Fire or anything else that gave off light.

It was Friday evening when the talking in the common room went utterly quiet. Professor Snape limped through the portrait in a foul mood.

Most Slytherins knew better than to bother their Head of House when his face was as stormy as that, but Harry wasn't a normal Slytherin. He immediately pushed his work aside and hopped to his feet, ignoring Malfoy's hiss.

Harry was worried. Why hadn't the professor gone to see the school's Healer, Madam Pomfrey? Resolutely going to the office door, Harry attempted to knock, but the door opened as it'd been slightly ajar.

Professor Snape was muttering to himself about a thrice-damned beast as he adjusted the bloody bandages on a mangled, pale leg.

It almost looked as if… as if something had chewed his leg. An idea popped into Harry's head. Professor Snape had visited the forbidden corridor and didn't seek medical help because he didn't want anyone to know. Swallowing hard, Harry tried quietly pulling the door shut.

Unfortunately, he wasn't quiet enough.

"POTTER! OUT!" came the roar.

Harry ran from the office down the short corridor and into the common room before going up the tower stairs as quickly as he could go. At the topmost landing, he realized he'd left his things in the common room. He decided he'd fetch them later.

Theodore was lying on his stomach in his bed, enamored with a glossy magazine with moving pictures of half-naked witches and wizards.

"Hey, Theo."

His roommate quickly put it under his pillow. "Agh, you scared the piss out of me, Harry." Seeing his distressed state, Theodore gave him a look over. "What's wrong?"

"Why would Professor Snape try to get past the three-headed dog?"

"I dunno, to check on whatever it's guarding? Why the sudden accusation?"

"I just saw his leg, and it looked like it'd been nearly chewed off!" Harry said in a low whisper, looking towards the door. "What if—what if he let that troll in to make a diversion?"

Theodore sat up straight. "Are you out of your bloody mind? Professor Snape letting a troll in?"

"What is so important that could fit in the palm of your hand, Theo? That's what that thing's guarding!"

"A lot of things actually… Most of them powerful Dark artifacts of one form or another." Theodore narrowed his eyes at Harry. "How do you have any idea what it's guarding?"

"Because, when Hagrid took me shopping at Diagon Alley before the start of term, he also went to Gringotts to pull out money for me. While we were down there, he took something from a certain vault."

"Wait, wait—you mean that vault that had been broken into? Merlin. That's big news, Harry."

"Don't tell anyone."

"What? But—"

"Please, Theo." Harry gave him a pleading look.

Theodore sighed. "Alright. If it's that important to you, I won't tell anyone." He lifted the magazine again.

The door slammed open. Harry turned around.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with you? Don't you see enough of my godfather as it is?" With an annoyed grimace, Malfoy set his bag next to his wardrobe.

Goyle thrust Harry's leather bag to him.

"Thanks, Goyle," Harry murmured taking his schoolbag. "I had to check… Nobody seemed to care that he was limping."

"My godfather is quite capable of taking care of himself," Malfoy said hotly. "If he wants to limp around in a sore mood, let him."

"That's stupid."

Malfoy laughed. "Harry, just about the worst thing you can do is invade my godfather's privacy."

"His leg's mangled. Aren't you curious about how that happened?"

"Potter," came the other boy's exapserated tone. "When you stick your nose into someone's business, it's liable to get lopped straight off. I completely understand your curiosity, but you really ought to trust me when I say that you shouldn't pry. He will make you pay for your transgression, one way or another."

"How can it get any worse? He wouldn't send me home."

Malfoy sighed and then cast a Switching spell to change into his night robes. "Do what you want. You're too stubborn by half to listen to reason." Their conversation done, Malfoy turned to see what Crabbe and Goyle were up to. They were both staring at Theodore's magazine, giggling. "The Mortar and Pestle? Please, that's kiddie stuff," Harry heard Malfoy tell them.

After putting his things away, Harry changed into the much-hated night robes that were irritatingly too comfortable to never wear. He hopped onto his bed. "Good night," he directed to them, and they responded distractedly in kind. After physically closing the bed curtains by hand, Harry pulled the covers up, his head buzzing with questions. He tried to empty his mind—his first Quidditch match was tomorrow after all!—but Snape's expression when Harry had seen his leg wasn't easy to forget. He couldn't help wondering if Professor Snape might want the whatever-it-was that the vicious dog was guarding.

In spite of the boys' continued giggling, Harry rested all night without waking or having nightmares.

The next morning, the food on the Slytherin long table didn't look very appetizing. Everyone seemed to be in bright spirits as they nattered away to one another. Harry looked anxiously at the teachers at the High Table; Professor Snape wasn't among them.

"You've got to eat something," Theodore told him.

"I don't want anything."

"Something, anything! Doesn't this look tasty?" Theodore held up a grilled banger, greasy and well-seasoned.

"I'm not hungry," Harry reiterated, knowing that normally he avidly ate nearly an entire tureen of the sausage links.

Theodore snorted. "You're always hungry. Maybe some oatmeal? Or juice? You need to eat something."

Truthfully, he felt terrible. In an hour's time, he'd be walking onto the pitch. What if Harry Potter didn't catch the Snitch? What if the Gryffindors won? "I'm fine."

From behind him, Malfoy said, "Don't be stupid, Potter. If you faint clear off your broom, I will mercilessly tease you until the next match."

Harry sent him a glare. "You wouldn't…"

"Oh," Malfoy said in a falsetto voice, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead, "if only the famous flying virtuoso, Harry Potter, had eaten a complete breakfast, he wouldn't have fainted, and the Slytherins might have won the match."

With a dark look, Harry shoveled some eggs into his mouth.

The blighter smiled. "I'm only kidding, of course."

"You weren't," Harry groused.

"No, see, our team would still win because Higgs would switch out with you. You would tap out of the game in a hilarious manner, but we certainly wouldn't lose."

Clearly it was too early in the morning to listen to Malfoy try to explain a joke that Harry didn't think was very funny. He gnawed on his dry toast, ripping off huge hunks of it until Malfoy grew too disgusted with his table manners to speak to him.

By eleven o'clock, Harry had made his way down the corridor beneath the Quidditch pitch to the Slytherin Team's locker room.

Seeing that he was the last to arrive, he changed quickly into the borrowed green Quidditch robes and padding that the rest of his team wore. Marcus Flint was not only the Team Captain but also one of three Chasers, which counted Adrian Pucey and Graham Montague. Miles Bletchley, a third year like Montague, was the Keeper. The two Beaters were fourth years, Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick.

Marcus Flint led them into a chant Harry didn't know, but was simple enough for him to catch on.

Stir 'em up, add the zest

'Cause Slytherin's the best

Beaters beat, and Keepers keep

Chasers chase, and Seekers seek

Stir 'em up, add the zest

'Cause Slytherin's the best

'Cause we Serpents know how to reap

A win to make 'em weep!

After the third pass through the chant, Harry's blood was pumping and any remaining anxiety had been replaced with anticipation. It wasn't just him; the whole team was eager to get out on the pitch.

Nimbus Two Thousand in hand, Harry was the last one out of the locker room. They climbed the slope and a few steps onto the Quidditch pitch. As the team walked to the center, the whole school appeared to be out in the stands. Many students had queer-looking binoculars. The crowds were swathed in mostly Burgundy and Gold and were screaming.

Madam Hooch was refereeing in black and white striped robes. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, broom in hand. The Gryffindors had arrived from the opposite direction.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Harry noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to Team Captain Flint. Frankly Harry wasn't surprised at all. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a fluttering banner high above, flashing 'Potter: The Best Seeker in Hogwarts' over the crowd in bright green, a silver serpent squirming underneath. Now and then, a glasses-wearing figure on a broom would zoom into the blank dark green background above the flashing text and catch something that looked like a large marble. Grinning, Harry thought his pride wouldn't let him finish this match without winning.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Harry clambered onto his broom with the rest of the players.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle, and they lifted off into the brilliant crisp air.

Harry let the announcer's voice wash over him as he scouted the field for glinting metal. Several times a Bludger came swooping towards Harry with the sound of two Weasley twins cackling. "What a pity it'd be for the new Slytherin Seeker to be knocked out in his first match!" One of them yelled as the Gryffindor Beaters nearly cobbed Harry if he hadn't darted above them.

Soaring high into the sky out of the Chaser-and-Keeper sphere, Harry surveyed the area. There were a couple of false glints from watch-faces and binocular lens…

The announcer suddenly said the word 'Snitch' and the crowd murmured expectantly below Harry. A flash of gold had passed Adrian Pucey's left ear. Harry dove for it excitedly, and so did the Gryffindor Seeker.

Harry was swifter though—he could see the little round ball, wings fluttering, darting up ahead—he put an extra spurt of speed—WHAM!

A Bludger slammed into Harry nearly knocking him off his broom. Quickly regaining control from the spin, he held his side and clung to the spinning broom as one of the Slytherin Beaters immediately knocked the hard leather ball away. There was a loud outcry followed by hissing from the stands.

The Slytherin spectators were soon surpassed by a roar of rage when the Bludger was lobbed at a Gryffindor Chaser. The Weasley twins had been high-fiving the other instead of protecting their teammates. Harry narrowed his eyes at them.

"You alright, Potter?" The muscular Bole peered at him worriedly. "Sorry I let that through."

"It's fine," he bit out, dropping his hand from his aching side. "I can still play."

While everyone was distracted, Flint had scored twenty points by throwing the Quaffle twice through one of the three hoops. Soon the Gryffindor Keeper started doing his job again, and the announcer's voice rattled off play by play.

Regrettably, Harry's unluckiness didn't end with the Bludger. He had been very careful to dodge the Bludgers, when it happened. His broom gave a sudden, frightening lurch. For a tick, he thought he was going to fall. He gripped the broom tightly with both his hands and knees, and then it really started to rock.

This isn't normal, Harry thought frantically as the broom acted like a bucking horse. He would have called Flint to get a time-out, but the broom was too out of control to breathe deeply let alone shout.

It zigzagged through the air; every now and then making violent swishing movements that almost unseated him.

All while the announcer continued, and the crowd was cheering. It seemed no one had even noticed Harry's plight. His broom was carrying him higher and higher, farther away from the game as it jerked and jumped in his grip.

And then it began to roll. Harry clung to it frantically, feeling his stomach roll with it. Disoriented, he reflexively grabbed the broomstick just as a wild jerk sent his body hurtling off. He swung his other hand up and grabbed the vibrating broom. Harry imagined he was strangling it, deliberately keeping his eyes above him and not at the ground hundreds of feet below. Chaser Adrian Pucey flew up to try to help him, but every time he got close Harry's broom would carry him higher.

With a great swing of his legs, Harry barely re-mounted his broom before it began to roll again; clinging tightly, Harry forced himself to breathe in tight puffs of air. When it stopped and tried to buck him off, this time Harry stayed put.

The crowd had obviously noticed his predicament by now. There were screams and alarmed shouts from below.

When the broom finally stilled moments later, Harry felt it had gone back to normal.

Just in time too, his sharp eyes caught the gold streak zooming along the green below. Hugging his body against the broom, he leaned forward dropping nearly vertical. Except he was going a little too fast to catch the Snitch by hand; his face plowed right into it. His hand slapped over his mouth, and he halted the broom so he could kneel on the grass.

Quickly, he spat out the Golden Snitch and held it up for everyone to see. "I GOT IT!" He cried out.

Five minutes later, Flint—with a recently repaired broken nose—was still howling with laughter as the entire house of Slytherins celebrated on the Quidditch pitch. "He didn't catch it, he nearly swallowed it! We should call it the Potter Ploy!"

Slytherin had won 210 points to Gryffindor's 20.

Before Harry could properly celebrate, he was forced onto a floating stretcher by Madam Hooch.

"I'm fine, Madam Hooch."

"You and Bell both are reporting to Madam Pomfrey, and that's final," the referee said.

Harry sighed while Bole told the referee that one of the Gryffindor Beaters had hurled it his way; something Harry thought was rather obvious by the Weasley twins' behavior after he'd been struck.

Soon, Harry was floated into the infirmary along with Katie Bell, who had been hit hard in the head with a Bludger. Once there, they each underwent diagnosis spells that brought a glow to their bodies and illuminated symbols and letters that Harry didn't recognize. While the Gryffindor Chaser had been released after imbibing a potion, Harry had been forced to remain after, taking a couple of vile-tasting ones.

"You can only have tea or water—no cream or sugar—for the next four hours. I've already notified Severus that you are to remain overnight," Madam Pomfrey informed him.

"Am I bad off?"

"Minor bruising and barely cracked ribs. This is largely a precautionary measure. You'll feel good as new after you get some rest." Madam Pomfrey smiled at him. "If you have no other questions for me…?"

Harry shook his head, and the Healer bustled into her adjacent office.

Staring at the drab grey stone wall across from him, Harry thought he should have asked if he was allowed out of bed…

" 'Arry? You okay?"

"Hagrid!" Harry cried, seeing the huge-framed man duck to pass through the double doors. "Yeah, I'm fine. Well, I will be tomorrow morning. Why haven't you been writing? I thought—it doesn't matter. I'm glad to see you!"

The half-giant looked abashed, setting a giant teapot down with a couple of tea-cups. "Sorry 'bout that 'Arry. Snape gave me an earful 'bout luring yeh into trouble and danger. Thought about sendin' yeh letters, but my spellin' is… well, it's that and I was worried yeh'd get ideas if I told yeh about what I've been findin' in the forest."

Head tilted slightly, Harry frowned. "What's in the forest?"

"Now 'Arry… Snape's said that yeh don't need ter know." Hagrid clapped a hand on his leg after he took a seat in a chair that looked like it might snap under his weight. "Nasty business havin' your broom jinxed," he said as he pulled open his jacket and took out a small box of sugar cubes. "Fancy a cuppa? I thought maybe yeh might like the company."

"Don't mind if I do—er, without the sugar please," Harry said, letting the bit about the forest go for now.

Hagrid poured him a cup. Harry drank it gingerly. He didn't much care for unsweetened tea.

"Harry!"

"Miss Granger, he is on bed rest and is taking no student visitors." Madam Pomfrey's voice rang out sharply.

"I'm sorry Madam Pomfrey, but I've really got to talk to Harry. Please, it's about who jinxed his broom. I've already told Professor McGonagall about it…"

Harry peered curiously around Hagrid, but couldn't see the silent impasse that must be occurring right behind the huge man.

"You have five minutes," the Healer said before sweeping back into her office.

"Would yeh like some tea, 'Ermione?"

"No, thank you, Hagrid."

"What's wrong?" Harry asked when Hermione Granger came into view.

"It was Snape," She whispered, "He was cursing your broomstick, muttering. He wouldn't take his eyes off you."

Harry stared at her.

"Rubbish! Why would Snape do somethin' like that?" Hagrid said.

Harry knew a little about jinxes, but he wanted to believe that Professor Snape wouldn't do that, especially since it'd be too easy for him to get caught. In addition, there'd been plenty of times where he could have killed Harry quietly and no one would have known any differently until his body had surfaced.

"Well, I… recently caught him with an injury he shouldn't have," Harry said carefully and looked towards Hermione. "You see, he tried and failed to get past the three-headed dog in the forbidden third floor corridor."

"A Cerberus?" Hermione said skeptically. "There's one of those vicious things inside Hogwarts? I thought they were illegal to import."

Hagrid nearly dropped the teapot. "How do yeh know about Fluffy?"

"Fluffy?" said Harry and Hermione incredulously.

"Yeah, bought 'im off a Greek chappie I met an' lent 'im ter Dumbledore ter guard the—" Hagrid realized just then that he was about to let out a very big secret. "Don't ask me anything else. That's top secret that is."

"But Professor Snape might be trying to steal whatever's being guarded," Harry insisted.

"Hogwash!" Hagrid waved a hand at him. "He'd do nothing of the sort!"

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" Hermione's lips were thinned in thought. "I've read all about jinxes, and Snape wasn't blinking, not even a bit while he was casting."

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" Hagrid said ardently. "I don't know who jinxed Harry's broom, but Snape would never try to kill a student."

"Hermione," Harry said turning to her. "What about a counter-jinx? Isn't it cast the same way?"

"Yes, but I made sure Snape stopped—" A sharp look came into her eyes. "Unless he bumped into someone else, someone who was actually performing the jinx."

Harry nodded. "Exactly, Hermione. Professor Snape is too invested in me to want to kill me. It's got to be someone else."

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "Oh, I should have looked around properly... but I was so sure! He's so nasty to you, Harry. Aren't you afraid of him?"

"I've met worse adults," Harry answered.

"And there were families and alumni to watch the game, too." She sighed unhappily. "There isn't any proper way to prune our choices."

"Don't worry yer heads about it. Dumbledore'll take care of it. Yeh'll see."

"But... what if whoever jinxed Harry's broom wants whatever is hidden?" Hermione looked at Hagrid expectantly.

A troubled look crossed Hagrid's large features. He leaned closer to them and whispered, "Yeh listen here. Yeh forget all this. That dog an' what it's guarding. That's between Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel—" Hagrid clamped his mouth shut, looking furious. "Yeh never heard that name."

Nicolas Flamel, huh. Harry said lightly, "What name?"

Hagrid laughed though it had an undercurrent of nervousness. He finished his tea. "Well, must be goin', 'Arry. Madam Pomfrey'll be out any moment. Yeh rest and take care of yerself."

"I will," Harry promised.

"See you in Potions," Hermione said quickly when the school Healer cleared her throat expectantly.

"See you."

The question remained lodged in Harry's brain: Who would want to kill him?


	9. The Early Days of Misery

_**Author's Notes: **I do believe that Snape has figured out exactly how much of a trouble-magnet Harry is.  
_

* * *

The following weekend, Harry had not been allowed to watch the Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff due to the fact that he had 'detention'. When he argued that he'd been allowed to play for Slytherin during 'detention', Professor Snape had responded with a scoff, "Potter, not everything in life is fair or logical. I suggest you finish your task before I set you to work cracking open toad-skulls with a nutcracker to collect their brains." Harry decided plucking intestinal worms out of frog's guts wasn't nearly so revolting, though he could do without the smell. Over dinner, Theodore told Harry that the match lasted well over two hours since neither Seeker had caught sight of the Snitch and that the Hufflepuffs had suffered a humiliating defeat.

Soon it was mid-December and Hogwarts students were planning their Christmas Holiday. Every single one of Harry's year-mates offered their home to him, but he politely refused them. Hogwarts was his home now. It'd feel strange if he'd gone anywhere else.

Nevertheless, in their last Potions class before break, Malfoy was lamenting the dilemma of those poor people who had to stay at Hogwarts because of their horrid family.

Weasley, of course, thought Malfoy was baiting him, apparently not noticing the looks of pity Malfoy kept sending Harry's way. Harry didn't know how to tell Malfoy to sod off any fouler. At least, being that it was the last day of the term, he only had to put up with those looks a little longer.

Theodore thought the whole thing was hilarious. "Malfoy's not used to the N-O word, Harry. Of course, he's persistent."

Harry nodded whenever Theodore reminded him. It didn't make Malfoy any less annoying.

Over the past few weeks, any time Harry was in the library, he'd tried to look for any reference to Nicolas Flamel. Having already exposed much to Theodore about his suspicions of what the Cereberus was guarding, Harry didn't yet trust him to ask if he recognized the name. Hermione wasn't having much luck either from the note she had given Harry after Potions, and if Hermione couldn't find it that meant either she wasn't searching for the right thing—which was highly unlikely—or it was in the Restricted Section.

It was during one of the rare instances during Independent Potions lab that Professor Snape sent Harry—escorted by Bulstrode because she had gotten in trouble that week for bullying Hermione—to the library. Harry was supposed to borrow a book on the proper methods of preparing a wax-based cauldron paste. Instead, he wandered over to the imposing Restricted Section. The entire rows of stacks were inside a cage, and the entrance was roped off with a small sign declaring it Off-Limits. Ever since Theodore said that the object that Fluffy was guarding could be a Dark artifact, Harry had thought that perhaps a book on Nicolas Flamel would be in there.

Harry knew he needed a signed note from one of the teachers to look at any of the Restricted books, and also knew that as a first year he'd never get one. These were books containing powerful Dark Magic never taught at Hogwarts, and only read by sixth- and seventh-year students studying Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"What are you looking for, boy?" Madam Pince, the librarian, asked sharply behind him.

"Nicolas Flamel," Harry said promptly.

She snorted and brandished her feather duster at him. "You won't find him here. Go on then."

Taking her answer to heart, Harry calmly turned back to the table he'd taken. If Nicolas Flamel hadn't created a Dark artifact… then how had Hermione missed finding him in the Hogwarts' regular collection?

Harry looked longingly towards Hermione's table, which was swamped with books. Ron Weasley was traveling to and from the rows of shelves and returning with an armload of books to deposit next to her. That meant that she'd been researching something the last time they'd done that. It seemed that whatever in-fighting between Hermione and Weasley had appeared to have been worked out. This was a good thing in Harry's book and redeemed the redhead a little.

Bulstrode clucked her tongue.

"What?"

She pointed at the stack of parchment and the quill lying in silent taunt on the table beside him. He'd long completed the homework that had been assigned for holiday. Those thick scrolls of extra assignments he'd been given hadn't stopped coming. Every time Harry turned them in Professor Snape summoned two more. His latest scroll was as thick as an unabridged dictionary and the questions were much harder than any class work Harry had dealt with yet. In fact, the extra assignments took nearly five times as long to complete than all Harry's weekly homework combined.

He should have given himself a break, but he hated to admit that what he learned from the scrolls was very fascinating. He'd had no idea that during both Muggle World Wars, the Magical world was facing its own monster: a Dark Lord by the name of Gellert Grindelwald. Perhaps Professor Snape had deliberately found the most fascinating historical accounts to keep Harry's attention. Merlin knew he hated History of Magic with Professor Binns' droning lectures on ancient wizards and witches. Despite this, his marks were good. In fact, Harry seemed to be doing fairly well in all of his classes and had even been awarded House points when he offered answers.

Looking at the scrolls, he sighed. He'd stayed out of trouble long enough. If what he was about to do resulted in yet another detention, then so be it.

Ignoring the dirty look from Bulstrode, Harry went to Hermione's stacks of books and scanned the titles: Important Modern Magical Discoveries, A Study of Recent Developments in Wizardry, Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century, and Most Notable Magical Names of Our Time. Harry frowned. If Nicolas Flamel wasn't in the Restricted Section… and by the looks of it Hermione still hadn't found the man's name in these books…

"What do you want, Potter?" A heated voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts.

Harry ignored Weasley. "Hermione, have you tried books from an earlier time period?"

"What?" Hermione said startled. "But Hagrid said—"

"Potter is not to fraternize with your lot," Bulstrode's churlish voice announced. "If you're friends with him, don't bleedin' talk to him until holiday."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Hermione frowned with worry and confusion.

"Hey, he talked to us first," Weasley hissed. "Don't blame us."

"If you barmy Gryffindorks stopped responding, Potter wouldn't get into so much trouble," Bulstrode sneered back.

Harry looked mournfully towards Hermione whose expression now seemed stuck on 'bewildered'.

"Harry," she started delicately, "What does she mean 'trouble'?"

Harry didn't answer her. "Let's go, Bulstrode. I'm tired." He rolled the thick scroll, shoving it into the bottomless leather satchel, and set the books he'd used on the cart beside the table.

Hermione was standing in Harry's way when he turned around. "You shouldn't have any homework left to do this close to holiday."

"It's none of your business, Granger," Bulstrode said standing bodily between Hermione and Harry.

"Bulstrode, come on. I know you don't want to serve detention when you get back next term," Harry said as he picked up his schoolbag. Hermione was blinking at Harry like his words had startled her.

The thick-boned girl huffed and followed Harry towards the double doors.

"Bloody Slytherins. They're all alike, I've always said that," Weasley's quiet voice carried in the nearly empty library.

Madam Pince, who had been dusting some shelves at the back of the library, reappeared to shush the Gryffindors loudly.

* * *

The first breakfast of holiday, Harry and only one other Slytherin were eating at the table: Samantha Pitts. Content to pet the snake draped across her shoulders, neither she nor Quinn were very interested in talking with Harry. Luckily, the breakfast was as delicious as ever, so Harry finished it quite easily. Since he had the table mostly to himself, he'd taken out quill and a piece of parchment to write a letter to Hermione. He began by apologizing for not saying anything about the unfair punishments and explained that he hadn't wanted her to be worried about getting him into trouble with Snape. If you like we can write letters, Harry wrote. You could even borrow Hedwig, my owl, if you want to respond. She's very friendly and easy to take care of. Hagrid told me that you only need to set out some water and bird pellets to keep her happy. He wished Hermione Happy Holidays and signed it.

Satisfied with the letter, Harry cleaned his quill off and stoppered the ink well. He ate another buttered piece of toast thoughtfully. Maybe he should tell Hedwig before he sent the letter to Hermione...

The other tables held only a handful of students. Over at the Gryffindor table, four redheads were carrying on. Harry recognized them of course: Ron the Arse, Percy the Prefect, and the twin Gryffindor Beaters, Fred and George. When the youngest Weasley caught that Harry was watching their familial interactions curiously, he scowled at Harry.

Harry decided since he was done eating he ought to go to the common room. He folded the letter now that the ink had dried and placed it in his schoolbag, which he carried around more out of habit than anything else. When he got up to leave, Pitts closed her book to follow him.

Fantastic, Harry thought glumly. Professor Snape had assigned him a personal keeper. The adult didn't trust Harry a bit to leave him to his own devices. Harry was starting to understand Prefect Pitts' warning to the first years about how exhausting it was to have Professor Snape personally dictate one's day-to-day activities. If Harry had known he would be under the same restrictions during holiday at Hogwarts, he might have chosen to stay with one of his year-mates instead.

Passing through the portrait hole, they silently went down the stairs and into the common room. The fire was crackling warmly as ever, but everything was so still.

"Want to play a game of Wizard chess?" Harry asked the prefect politely. "Gilbert gave me his old board and pieces."

She nodded, a hand stroking the back of Quinn.

Since there was no one inside the tower to worry about, Harry held out his wand and concentrated on what the old set looked like, "Accio Wizard chess set."

The tip of his wand lit up once and then nothing. Soon, the heavy board and silk satchel of chessmen hovered into the room from the stairwell and then landed in Harry's arms. He carefully set the board down and began to politely place the pieces. Many of them stretched and yawned.

"You don't need to do that," said a White knight on horseback, "We can find our own places."

"But I like doing it," Harry said.

A Black pawn scuffed his boot. "Hey, don't complain. Be grateful he doesn't dump us out like a bucket of toys!"

Pitts' lips quirked into a smirk.

Harry rather liked Wizard chess. He could direct them like troops into battle, and after Gilbert's tutoring, the chessmen had stopped yelling conflicting advice at him and trusted his judgment.

The first bout was a drawn out affair. Harry couldn't follow the prefect's erratic movements at all. However, he won the game when her pieces, two pawns defending a king, had been cornered by Harry's bishop and castle, ending in a forced checkmate. "Excellent use of Morphy's Mate, Lord Potter!" The bishop exclaimed.

"I told you before to call me Harry without the title," he said with an agitated look. He'd had to remind the chess pieces every time he brought the set out.

"As you wish, Sir Harry," the White pieces answered.

"Reset," he told them, knowing that arguing wouldn't do any good. The captured pieces climbed back onto the board. Harry looked at the prefect who thus far had watched the board without speaking. "Do you want to switch colors?"

"No, I like Black."

They again played a silent game with only the sound of the crackling fire filling the room. This time her moves were much more understandable to Harry, even though she was left with only a knight to defend her king.

"Checkmate," Prefect Pitts said after a shorter game.

Harry stared at the board. "How did I lose? I'm well-defended."

"This is a Smothered Check, Sir Harry!" Harry's remaining castle answered standing two spaces to the left of Harry's king which was on the farthest right corner.

"You're too well-defended," Pitts said dryly. "See my knight? It may be my only piece left but it can threaten your king. See?" She jumped it at two different spots. "Even if you moved your castle, the result would be the same. Your king would lose his crown. Your endgame's weak because you play too defensively."

"Oh," Harry said thoughtfully and then asked, "So, did you stay because your family was busy?"

"No," she seemed a bit amused. "Like you, I'm an orphan, but since I'm of age I asked not to be placed with a family after my Great-Aunt passed last August."

"I'm sorry." Harry said because that was what you ought to say when someone died.

"She was a hundred and fifty-nine. It was expected." Pitts certainly didn't seem bent out of shape about it. Harry hadn't known a person could live past a hundred and twenty.

"What do you do for the summer? Do you rent a flat?" Harry was curious.

"Internships with room and board mainly. I'm training to be a Healer. I'm already a licensed mediwitch," Pitts stated calmly.

"What's the difference between a mediwitch and a Healer?"

"Well," she pursed her lips as she thought. "A mediwitch or mediwizard does not have the same in-depth training and experience as a Healer. When there is a medical or magical emergency, they arrive at the residence of a witch or wizard who is incapable getting to St. Mungo's under their own power, stabilize them, and provide Apparation services. Healers work at hospitals or schools and often have a particular focus area where they excel."

"You plan to work at St. Mungo's then?"

Dropping her hand from Quinn, Pitts looked at him curiously. "You're not merely making small talk. You actually want to know."

Harry frowned. "What?"

She waved a hand at him. "Yes. It's the dream of every Healer-in-Training to work there. I want to specialize in Curse afflictions both Known and Unknown. Professor Snape says I have a talent for sorting them out." Pitts' brown eyes fixed themselves upon Harry's forehead and then looked politely back at the chessboard. The chessmen had grown bored when they weren't ordered to retake their initial positions, so pieces had begun to play card games.

Besides that one time Malfoy looked at it after it started hurting during the start-of-term feast, his fellow Slytherins had all but ignored the striking scar, unlike the rest of Hogwarts. It only occurred to Harry then whether it was just proper not to discuss such a thing or if Professor Snape had forbid his housemates from pestering him. "Did you... want to look at my scar?"

Raw interest suddenly gleamed in Pitts' eyes. "I do."

Harry pushed the fringe of his hair up and leaned forward. Pitts' chin immediately blocked Harry's line of sight, her mouth lined in a frown of concentration. "Fascinating."

Harry had never been this close to a girl before. She smelled like antiseptic.

After a time, Pitts drew away and then pushed the sleeves of her robes to her elbows. She pulled out a short mahogany wand. "May I do some diagnostic spells? They won't hurt a bit."

Curious, he nodded.

With a swish of her wand and a many-syllabled incantation Harry thought was nearly unpronounceable, a misty glow surrounded him. "Hellthe Bodig," she enunciated clearly.

The mist coalesced into numbers and a few curvy letters and symbols.

"Normal heart rate, blood pressure. Organs all healthy. No appearance of sickness. Immune system showing signs of stress from lack of sleep," She recited with an almost bored tone. "Magical core…" She squinted. "Spiritus Revelio."

Strange reddish-pink orbs of pulsing light sprang forth from Harry's body with a ridiculously complex web interconnecting them. The topmost one was oddly shaped, more lumpy than spherical as if part of it had melted away. Where the rest of the orb would have been, the lumpy side was a dull and angry red, blackened on the edges.

Harry stared at it. There was an ugly tear, almost like a crack, straight down the middle.

Pitts breathed out softly. "There seems to be a foreign body inside the Third Eye."

"What does that mean, exactly?"

The prefect waved her wand dismissing the strange orbs of light. "Likely, whatever it is, prevented the Killing Curse from doing its job. If it was safe to remove, someone else more experienced than me would have done it." Pointing the wand once again at Harry, Pitts rattled off an exceptionally long charm. This time the mist ballooned dates from different places on Harry's person.

He stared down at himself in confusion as different limbs glowed with different dates. Then a light blinded his eyes as his nose glowed along with another flash of date. Since the numbers were backwards Harry was having trouble reading them. The great deluge of dates dispersed into mist.

Harry was not sure why Pitts looked so angry. "You haven't been honest with Professor Snape."

"Ex-excuse me?" Harry couldn't lie without others knowing.

"I was told the Muggles' mistreatment only extended to neglect and disregard." Her fists went to her hips, her wand jutting out from the left one. "Who was beating you, Harry?"

"I wasn't," Harry protested. "And I didn't lie. I told him about Dudley, my cousin."

"Yes, and I'm sure you implied that it was roughhousing done in good fun," she said bitterly. "In your lifetime you have suffered well over fifty minor fractures, eight major fractures, a broken nose, and innumerable concussions among other things that are too ghastly to contemplate. If your core weren't so bloomin' powerful, you wouldn't have healed as easily as you did without any treatment."

"What?" Harry felt the blood drain from his face. He didn't remember suffering from anything worse than scrapes and bruises. "I-I don't understand."

"You may have forgotten but your magic remembers. It remembers everything that's ever happened to you," her scowl deepened. "It's little wonder the Sorting Hat placed you here. You're so good at charming others that no one would have thought anything was amiss with the Boy-Who-Lived had you been placed elsewhere."

From the sounds of it, Dudley and his gang had walloped him worse than he thought... Harry wanted to be skeptical because he certainly didn't think he'd been beaten by his cousin. Maybe it had happened before Dudley had gotten so fat that he couldn't chase Harry properly.

She waved her wand again. Harry expected the mist to fade away, but instead it hardened into a silvery-green globe. He saw her lightly touch the Prefect badge. "Professor Snape, Urgent Message."

His stomach tightened as fear gripped him. "Where are you going?"

"Don't get any bright ideas, Potter. I'm watching you." She muttered an Alerting spell under her breath and immediately darted down the corridor.

Harry yanked out his wand "Accio—" He had no idea what that globe was called. Suddenly the chessboard toppled over in its hurry to hop into Harry's arms. The chessmen yelled, cursing, as Harry tumbled backwards into a high-backed chair from the sudden weight in his arms.

He didn't know why he felt ashamed.

* * *

A few days passed with Pitts following Harry wherever he went, whether it was to the Owlery, the Great Hall, the Library, everywhere—other than the boys' dormitory or bathrooms, of course. He hardly wanted to talk to her after what she'd done, and Pitts had already shown that she was perfectly capable of entertaining herself. In his self-imposed isolation, the only source of companionship were in the letters and notes that Harry received from Hermione and Hagrid. He eagerly anticipated them and sent replies the soonest he could write them. Their correspondence were a bright mark in his misery. Harry was certainly regretting not taking any of his year-mate's offers to visit.

It was the pre-dawn of Christmas Eve that Harry was struck with an idea in his lonely room. He quickly dressed in heavier garments, excitement buzzing in his ears. Grabbing his broom from beneath his bed, he pushed open the window. Fresh, cold air blasted him with dancing snowflakes.

It was the perfect plan.

He mounted his broom and kicked off into the December air, frosty breath bursting from his chest with pure joy.

With a WHUMP he landed through a giant pile of fluffy snow. Laughing, he stood up, broom still firmly in grip. He was free! Shoving the broom between his legs, Harry kicked off again and tore around the castle, screaming with delight.

Quite suddenly several snowballs pummeled him like miniature Bludgers. Harry glanced around to gauge where they were coming from and easily dodged them. Many collided with each other in a shower of packed snow. He flew backwards and sideways, lazily rolling this way and that.

From below, the perpetrators gave themselves away with hoots of laughter. More floating snowball Bludgers aimed towards Harry. Grinning, he immediately dove, and the Weasley twins received faces full of snow.

"That wasn't very nice, mate!" The one with 'Fred Weasley' on the robes said loudly.

"We were only playing!" Presumably 'George Weasley' said. Harry didn't trust their nametags since the two boys were identical in shape and size, so he hovered several yards away from them.

"This is the first bit of fun I've had and you want to plaster me with snow?" Harry grizzled. "Wasn't spiking that Bludger at my side enough?"

"Aw, Harry, don't look so upset! We like you, mate, we do!" 'Fred' piped up.

"Yeah, anybody who annoys Snape as much as us deserves a shiny plaque!" 'George' grinned ear to ear.

"You have a funny way of showing it," Harry said distrustfully. "Now which of you is which?"

"Can't you read?" 'George' said with exasperation.

"Sure, I can. I'd think you could have Switched your robes around to have a little fun," Harry suggested.

The Weasley twins laughed uproariously, more so than Harry thought necessary. He waited for them to explain themselves.

"We did that our first two years at Hogwarts. Then we got bored, didn't we Fred?" 'George' said.

Fred nodded. "Sure, did George. Drove our teachers positively nutters, especially good old Snape."

Harry landed on the walkway next to them. "You're the last ones I'd expect to be friendly to me."

"We know you're a good guy, Harry, even if no one else does."

"Yeah, the hat wanted to put us in Slytherin, but we knew it'd break our Mum's heart."

Harry's heart leaped in his chest. "How did you make the Sorting Hat—"

"Potter!" Pitts nearly screamed out.

"Uh-oh!" said George.

"Prefect Smarmy Arm-Pitts is coming!" said Fred.

"Take cover!" They grabbed Harry and shoved him into a giant snow pile nearby. Harry flailed, cartwheeling with his arms to try to regain his balance and in the process released his broom.

Fred casually grabbed his Nimbus Two Thousand, and George waved, while Harry stumbled backwards into the snow bank. "Bon Voyage!"

Buried deep in snow, Harry heard a lot of screaming. It sounded like the Weasley twins were having great fun taking turns flying on his broom and sending legions of snowballs at Samantha Pitts.

When his head popped out of the snow, Harry adjusted his wet glasses just as he heard the points get taken from Gryffindor. Before he thought to run away, Prefect Pitts was standing over him with her arms crossed. Against her shoulder was his broom.

"Starting today, Professor Snape expressly forbids you from flying without supervision." She murmured a Shrinking Charm and his broom turned into a delicate miniature that fit nicely in her hand.

Groaning, Harry slumped back into the snow.

The day passed into boredom. Harry sulked in his room, noticing that the window wouldn't budge no matter how he pressed a hand on it. He didn't want to read or do anything. He wanted to play outside without being watched or harped on!

His stomach growled around lunch time, so he headed downstairs resigned to be escorted by Pitts to the Great Hall. As they passed through the main corridor of the dungeons, a great BANG filled the corridor and was followed quickly by billowing clouds of black powder. Once it had surrounded Harry, he couldn't see a thing.

Two somebodies grabbed each of his arms, and though Harry struggled he was not put down. "Let go!"

"Easy. It's just a bit of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," one of the Weasley twins said as it felt like they were jogging. Behind them he could hear Pitts yelling.

"You looked so miserable we couldn't help ourselves!" said the other on his right.

"This'll get her in a twist!" came the left's gleeful whisper. Something that sounded like plastic bounced down the corridor as Harry was carried up the stairs.

POP! "WE GOT POTTER! WE'LL TAKE HIM TO HOGSMEADE AND YOU CAN'T STOP US!" George's voice echoed and then blew a raspberry.

As soon as they reached the second level, the air suddenly cleared and Harry squinted at the sudden bright light.

"That should keep her preoccupied through lunch," George said with a grin, wearing a pair of what looked to be tinted swimmer's goggles. Harry saw an identical pair wrapped around Fred's head.

Harry didn't know what to think as they brought him into the Great Hall. He decided on, "Put me down."

"As your royal highness commands," George and Fred quipped, depositing him on a bench running along the Gryffindor table. Prefect Percy was farther down the table reading a book.

"Why'd you have to go and invite him to eat with us?" Ron the Arse scoffed.

"Don't be a flobberworm, Ron! This guy's loads of fun," Fred said as he and his twin removed and pocketed their goggles. "I think he would've fit right in as a Gryffindor."

Harry was feeling even more flat-footed, not sure what to make of the situation. A golden plate and goblet appeared and then filled up all by themselves, so he did the only sensible thing and began to eat.

"Oh, and thanks for letting us fly your broom," George told Harry. "It was great fun!"

"That Nimbus Two Thousand is a beaut. Ah, if only we could afford something like that," Fred griped.

"Er…" Harry didn't remember granting them any sort of permission.

"You let them ride your Nimbus Two Thousand? Them?" Ron the Arse gasped out as if the news was strangling him. "But Slytherins don't share anything!"

Harry shrugged, preferring not to answer.

"Don't be jealous," George admonished his younger brother.

"Yeah, if you want to ride it, I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind, would you, mate?" The other twin said.

Harry deliberately made his face neutral because he rather did mind since Ron had only been nasty to him after Harry had been Sorted into Slytherin.

"Would you? Oh, please," the Gryffindor said excitedly.

"Professor Snape confiscated my broom. Sorry," Harry said, looking awkwardly at his empty, clean plate. He took a great swallow of pumpkin juice.

"What?! What for?"

"Because Mr. Potter has difficulty following directions," a nasal voice enunciated clearly. There was a most displeased look upon the face of his Head of House.

"Hello, professor!" caroused the twins gleefully.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for the use of experimental substances in the hallways." Professor Snape said over the whinges and complaints of the twins, "Potter, come with me."

"Yes, sir." Harry dutifully stood up and followed his Head of House. He glanced over his shoulder and saw pity-filled looks thrown in his direction by the three Weasleys.

Following at a moderate pace to Snape's strides, Harry traversed the corridor and went down several flights of stairs to the dungeons. At the bottom of them, Professor Snape was waiting and took a deliberately leisurely pace. Harry immediately dropped the speed of his pace and the adult predictably continued without noticing until he reached the T-intersection where the portrait was.

Snape glared as Harry meandered to the end of the corridor and turned to stand patiently by the portrait.

"Birthright," Professor Snape snapped at the portrait.

The Thin Lady bowed lightly as she curtsied politely, and the frame swung open.

The common room was empty, except for the crackling fire. Harry wondered if Samantha was already upstairs in her dormitory.

Taking a seat across from the fireplace, Professor Snape gestured towards the other one.

It was quite the uncomfortable seating arrangement for Harry. He sat with a straight back as his fingers fiddled over his robes. He wondered if he would receive a month-long detention again because of the Weasley twins' prank.

"I have received word that the Office of Ward-ships for Underage Wizards and Witches has rescinded your Muggle relatives' custody rights."

Harry's lungs constricted in surprise. "What… does that mean, sir?"

"It means they're no longer your Legal Guardians and you're now the Ward of the Ministry."

It meant no more Harry Hunting, no more screaming Uncle Vernon, no more nastiness from Aunt Petunia, no more horrid Aunt Marge egging her horrid pit bull, Ripper, to chase him up trees—Harry ground his thoughts to a halt worried that he was a bit premature. "This isn't a joke, is it?" He asked carefully.

All signs of irritation gone, Professor Snape raised an eyebrow. "Certainly not."

Harry suddenly slumped back into the chair, laying his head back in dizzying relief. He wanted to laugh or cry, but thought he probably shouldn't. He no longer had to deal with the Dursleys!

"…There is a complication," Professor Snape said reluctantly, "One the Ministry hopes to remedy before the end of the school term."

Harry pushed himself up so he could meet the professor's black eyes. "What sort of complication?"

"Besides yourself, the esteemed Potter line was wiped out during the war a decade ago. In order to ensure your protection, you must be placed with a close blood relative."

"Protection from what... or who? You-Know-Who is dead and gone." Harry had never imagined that there might be a sensible reason for being placed with the Dursleys. Belatedly, Harry wondered if perhaps he needed protection from whoever had jinxed his broom and set the troll loose into Hogwarts.

Professor Snape's eyes flashed. "The wizard responsible for murdering your parents and attacking you in infancy has many supporters who were never caught and sentenced. Without Blood Wards, your life would be in jeopardy."

"Oh. You mean Voldemort's supporters would want to finish the job of killing me."

His professor's flinch was nearly imperceptible. "Yes."

"So, why is there a complication? Don't I have cousins or other aunts and uncles I can go to?"

"Lily Evans only had a sister, and your maternal grandparents are deceased," Professor Snape said sharply. "That is why a bloodline analysis has been ordered by the Wizengamot to find a suitable guardian. Shortly after the end of the school term, you should be placed with an appropriate Magical family." That clinched some of Harry's joy. It must have shown on his face because the professor immediately said, "They will, of course, be disallowed from mistreating you. The Ministry will assign a case manager to make monthly drop-ins to see how you've settled with the family for four months before a legal adoption can occur."

"Then, that's it? I don't have to see the Dursleys anymore?" Harry asked wishing his tone was less anxious.

"Correct. They have absolutely no sway in your life any longer," Professor Snape said firmly. He stood and looked thoughtfully at the fire.

Harry took a deep breath of relief. Now he only had to worry about this unknown Voldemort supporter trying to kill him.

"Harry, do you have photographs of your parents?" The professor didn't turn from the fire.

Startled at the sound of his first name, Harry shook his head. "N-no, sir, but Hagrid said I look a lot like my dad."

"I see." Professor Snape walked towards his office and then paused. "The Weasley twins have been a bane to my existence since they arrived at Hogwarts three years ago. Don't get caught up in their schemes or you will regret it," he warned and then continued to his office.

Harry couldn't make sense of the professor's words. Letting it go, he pushed himself up and went up to his dormitory to work on the thick scrolls awaiting him. The thought of telling Hermione that he'd been removed from his Muggle relatives never occurred to him.


	10. Christmas Holiday at Hogwarts

_**Author's Notes: **Which Magical family do you think Harry will end up with? I already have an answer; This is me being inquisitive. I never even thought about whether the Twins had been in Slytherin until they were reassuring Harry. Poor Samantha Pitts ended up going to Hogsmeade in case Harry needed to be rescued. Good thing she sent a message to Snape before going.  
_

* * *

The next morning when Harry woke early he found a pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

He looked around suspiciously. He'd never gotten decent presents before. He checked them and, sure enough, they were addressed to him.

"Merry Christmas," he said to no one and began opening them one by one. Hagrid had given him a roughly whittled wooden flute. Harry blew into the mouth piece—it sounded like an owl's hoot.

He set it aside and opened the next parcel. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had written a short, detached note about receiving his message that he'd be staying at Hogwarts for the Christmas holiday and taped a fifty-pence coin to it. It was the first time he'd gotten anything worthwhile from them. Moth-eaten socks and ratty hand-me-downs were the usual wrinkled sorts of things he'd gotten from his relatives stuffed in the smallest box they could find with only a bare piece of twine around it.

His next package contained sweets—a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione. Harry felt a jab of guilt. He hadn't sent anything to her or Hagrid, not having expected anything. He would write to them thanking them for the gifts.

There were seven more packages.

Harry unwrapped a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans from Goyle, the book from Diagon Alley that Harry had been eyeing when he'd gone with Hagrid (Curses and Counter-Curses by Professor Vindictus Viridian) from Sally-Anne, a box of licorice wands from Crabbe, a 30-galleon cheque and an owl-order catalogue of Quality Quidditch Supplies from Malfoy, and a thick tome (Useful Dark Artifacts: Ancient and Modern by Professor Wendy Murloch) from Theodore.

The first-year Slytherin was quite overwhelmed by all of it. He should have known better than to assume he'd receive nothing. Now he'd be caught out for not having given anything to his housemates.

The next gift Harry chose was a heavy square one. He blinked in surprise at the neat, squashed and sharply looped handwriting—Professor Snape had even sent him something! He tore open the envelope which had been under the green ribbon wrapped around the plain silver and black wrapping paper. I hope these are well-received, the note said. Impatient, Harry ripped through the paper and found a slender leather-bound photo album.

He immediately remembered the professor's question from the previous night. With shaking hands, Harry popped the clasp and opened it. The first page held black-and-white Wizard photos of a long-haired girl in a Hogwarts uniform. She was smiling warmly in most of them or slightly waving, and in one of the photos ducked shyly behind a tree whenever Harry would look at her. He turned the page and found more of them except the smiling girl had transformed into a young woman.

The next page was filled with eye-popping color photos. There was no doubt that it was his mother with her bright green eyes and long red hair. She was smiling for the camera in white wedding robes. Next to her was a tall man with messy black hair and a calm, confident grin full of straight teeth. So that was James Potter, his dad. He wore glasses and his hair was very untidy, sticking up in the back just like Harry's.

Harry's heart clenched as he saw three more precious wedding photos of them. Even though his father was in them, it was his mother who seemed to be front and center in them.

In the bottom right corner of that last page, his mother wearing cornflower blue robes was holding a swaddled baby in what looked to be a hospital nursery room. In dark green robes that were open in the front, his father stood behind her with an arm around her shoulders. With proud smiles, his parents were both peering down at the bald, wriggling newborn, whose eyes hadn't yet opened.

It was Harry as a baby.

With a reverent touch at the edges of the photo, Harry didn't dare trace their faces. All the wedding photos were waving excitedly at him as if they recognized him. It was a little unsettling, but not upsetting.

He closed the album and set it down carefully. He let his fingers idly trace over the plain black leather cover. Harry's heart felt like it was near to bursting with emotion. Professor Snape had given him the best present of the bunch.

Gently placing it aside, he lifted the last present. It was very light in his hands as he unwrapped it.

Something fluid and silvery grey went slithering to the floor where it lay in gleaming folds.

He picked it up, letting it fall over his fingers. Under his hands, it was like water woven into material. He knew it had to be some sort of magical item as he'd never felt such a thing before.

Harry threw it around his shoulders. It hardly weighed a thing. Closing the front, Harry did a double-take when he looked down. His feet were gone! He rushed to the mirror on the wall. Sure enough, his reflection looked back at him—that is, just his head floating in midair. His body was completely invisible. He pulled the cloak forward, and his face disappeared too in the mirror, though from Harry's perspective it was like looking through filmy black gauze.

"Wow," Harry breathed out. He pulled the cloak off, turning back to his pile of presents, and noticed a piece of parchment on the ground.

Your father left this in my possession before he died.  
It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.  
A Very Merry Christmas to you.

There was no signature, and Harry had never seen the loopy, tidy handwriting before.

He felt very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father? Should he show it to Professor Snape just in case it was dangerous?

One thing was for certain. He couldn't keep this cloak that made him invisible—This Cloak of Invisibility—in his trunk when his roommates reappeared from holiday or it was liable to be taken like his old jim-jams.

He immediately pulled on his slacks and polo shirt, and then pulled a set of robes over his head. He shoved the cloak into an inner pocket of the robes and checked it in the mirror. He didn't see any difference.

Since he was done unwrapping gifts, he went to his desk abutting four others and pulled out parchment, a quill, and an ink bottle. He sat down and began to write apologetic thank-you letters. Since the windows could no longer be opened, he was forced to hand deliver the letters to Hedwig in the Owlery so she might deliver them.

Soon enough he'd go downstairs to get washed up and then head to breakfast.

* * *

It was the best Christmas Day Harry had ever experienced. Even though Prefect Pitts walked with Harry everywhere he went, it didn't ruin Harry's mood at all. The Christmas Day decorations were fantastic and the feasts were marvelous. Harry was so full that he ended up napping in the stone loft when he returned to the common room between meals.

Dinner was an even greater extravagant affair. After watching the Weasleys at the Gryffindor table do it, Harry snapped open one Christmas cracker after another. He'd gotten a rear admiral's hat, a pack of non-explodable luminous balloons and a Grow-Your-Own-Warts kit. Having received plenty of Christmas presents, Harry avoided snapping open any more crackers as he wasn't sure what he would do with the items he'd gotten. The prefect next to him hadn't pulled apart even one.

It wasn't until Harry climbed into his bed close to midnight that he was free to think about what had been a small worry niggling him all day: the Cloak of Invisibility. Harry pulled it out of his pocket. Again, he wondered who had sent it to him and for what purpose.

Could he really believe that it was his father's? It was a nice idea to ponder as Harry let the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk and as light as air. Use it well, the note had said.

He couldn't resist putting it on again. He whipped it around onto his shoulders and closed the front. Looking down at his legs, he saw only moonlight and shadows. It was a very funny feeling.

Use it well.

Harry jolted to complete alertness. With this cloak he could go anywhere in Hogwarts and Mr. Filch and Professor Snape would never know.

Excitement at the prospect flooded through him as Harry stood there in the dark and silence. Throwing the cloak over his head, he crept out of the dormitory, down the stairs, and across the common room. He noticed there was a light on down the corridor where Professor Snape's office resided.

Harry hesitated. If he went out the portrait hole invisibly, Professor Snape would be notified… but if he went out without it on… at least Professor Snape would think he was breaking curfew and not in possession of a magic cloak.

Quickly Harry shoved the cloak into his pocket and pushed open the portrait. He could feel the Thin Woman's glare on him and then heard a shuffling. When Harry turned around, the tall, thin woman in an emerald dress was gone, her fan abandoned in her black-upholstered chair. Running to turn down the nearest corner, Harry threw on the cloak and held his breath.

Sure enough, the portrait creaked open again, and Professor Snape walked out looking down the corridor both ways.

Harry's heart was racing, especially when the professor headed towards him. Harry flattened himself against the cold stone wall as Professor Snape stalked past.

Mr. Filch's office lay not far beyond the corridor once the professor left the dungeons. Harry felt his stomach flip.

Acting on instinct, Harry turned into the labyrinthine of corridors rather than pass by the entirely too observant portrait. He knew a different way out of the dungeons.

Soon enough he was in the dark, narrow corridor aside of the library. The hallway was illuminated by moonlight streaming through the windows.

A low feline growl emanated off the walls.

It was Mrs. Norris! Harry turned and only caught a brief glimpse of the cat's tail in the soft light.

"You found 'im, my sweet?" Filch's voice carried from down the passageway. "Professor, Mrs. Norris caught whiff of a student only a few doors down from here. His trail will be warm for her to follow."

"Proceed, then. Don't wait for permission," came Professor Snape's clipped tone.

Hearing their footsteps, Harry looked around tensely and found a door slightly ajar two paces away from him. He squeezed through the opening and held his breath.

They walked by without noticing anything amiss.

That had been close, too close for Harry's comfort. He was going to have to find a way to leave the Slytherin House without tipping off the portrait so he could explore Hogwarts properly.

He looked around the room he'd hidden in, noticing that it was some sort of classroom. It didn't look recently used though…

The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket—but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there. It was a magnificent mirror, which looked as if it'd been placed there to keep it out of the way.

Harry didn't know why it'd been shoved in here because it was lovely, as tall as the ceiling with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet.

There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised strae hru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

His panic faded as his curiosity fiercely came out. Harry moved nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at his invisible self—that is, see that he currently had no reflection.

He stepped in front of it and gasped loudly at what he saw. He whirled around searching the room. There was no one in the room other than him, and it didn't make any sense since he was still wearing the cloak… because he'd seen his reflection and a whole crowd of people too.

Breathing quickly, he pulled the cloak down and turned slowly back to the mirror. There he was looking terrified and pale, and behind him were ten others. It was too dark to really make anyone out, so Harry stepped closer. The two people standing closest to him were waving and smiling.

Harry made a noise of surprise. They were his parents! He instinctively reached behind him, but only met air. In the mirror, his mother's green eyes matched his. She had dark red hair and her eyes were brimming with tears.

Why was she crying? Harry stepped even closer. The tall and thin, black-haired man, his father, standing next to her put his arm around her, and they hugged each other.

Harry's nose touched the surface of the mirror as he became enthralled with the image it presented. Why was he seeing them? Who were the people behind them?

The esteemed Potter line was wiped out… Professor Snape's voice reminded him quietly.

Behind his parents were what Harry assumed were departed relatives. Some had eyes shaped like his, others had his nose. There was even a small old man with knobby knees like Harry's.

It was his family. Harry's heart twinged. He understood that they were dead, but they were smiling at him, patting his reflection's hair when they got close, mouths moving.

Harry stared hungrily at them, wishing he could interact with them more than anything.

He pressed his hands flat against the glass as though he was hoping to fall right through to reach them. It was a terrible feeling in his chest, half joy, half dreadful sadness.

How long he stood there, Harry wasn't sure. The reflections hadn't faded, and many were animatedly talking to one another as if they were at a great party. He looked among them, wishing he could hear their voices. A distant noise brought him back to his senses.

He blinked his eyes wearily. They watered and blurred and he suddenly realized he was exhausted. He looked up again, and his mother had wrapped her arms around him with encouragement. "Mum…" Harry glanced at the man. "Dad, I need to go to bed."

Lily Potter's reflection nodded in understanding as she drew away slowly and James Potter's hand mussed Harry's reflection's hair worse than it already was. Even though he hadn't felt anybody touch his hair, Harry said, "Cut that out," with a scowl. His dad winked and grinned.

Harry tore his eyes away from their faces and whispered, "I'll come back," and hurried from the room.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry walked up to the portrait and said, "Lineage."

With a frown the portrait swung open and Harry hurriedly pulled the cloak over him. He was already across the common room and going up the dormitory steps when Professor Snape stormed out.

"Potter!" Professor Snape snarled up the staircase. And then Harry heard him take the steps two at a time.

Entering the dark dorm room, Harry shut the door behind him, flung the cloak onto his bed, ripped off his glasses, and cast a quick Switching spell so he didn't have to waste any time getting out of his clothes. Hastily drawing the curtains around the bed and now wearing night robes, Harry tucked himself in and shoved the cloak under his pillow.

The door burst open, a brightly lit wand held high above the professor's head. "Lumos Pyros," came the crisp order. Professor Snape wasn't the least bit out of breath.

Green fire lit itself in its metal sconces. Harry was glad that he was very good at feigning sleep. It certainly helped that he was tired.

The curtains were ripped back, and Harry blinked slowly bringing a hand up to rub his face. "Is it breakfast time already, Aunt Petunia?"

"Oh, don't give me that. What were you doing out after curfew?"

Harry's eyes were barely open, partially hidden behind his hand. "Exploring without being hounded."

A muscle twitched in Snape's jaw. "Did it ever cross your feeble mind that there could be a significant reason to continuously guard you?"

"I'm in the safest place in the world with Dumbledore around."

"You idiot boy! You're just like your father!" Professor Snape grabbed the front of Harry's night robes.

Flinching, Harry dropped his hand from his face. He grinned at the thought of being like his dad.

"Perhaps the person that jinxed your broom during the Quidditch match or released the troll inside on All Hallow's Eve!" Professor Snape roared in his face. "The perpetrator is still at large! Where was Dumbledore then, Potter?"

"I already know that one of Voldemort's supporters is after me, professor." The tight fingers on Harry's robes loosened slightly. "I don't need a babysitter. I took care of myself without any help for the last ten years, so I don't need you or anyone else telling me what to do." When Snape didn't hit him, Harry smiled lightly. He probably shouldn't have, but he was tired and didn't care. "Anyway, why does it matter to you so much?" Harry asked cautiously, peering through half-lidded eyes at the angry man. The only thing Harry really cared about at the moment was to visit the mirror again, where all his dead family members were and fall asleep next to them.

Professor Snape released Harry, and he flopped back onto the bed. "A world without allies is a dangerous world, Potter," the professor warned and then left, his robes billowing out behind him.

Once the adult had gone, the room was silent again. Harry looked at the wardrobes across from his bed, knowing he didn't have enough of anything to put in his own. And now, he didn't even have the Dursleys to fall back on if anything happened to him. They were no longer his family. Instead of being frightened at the prospect, Harry was relieved.

He pulled out his wand from beneath his pillow. "Nox," he whispered waving it towards the sconces, and the green fire winked out. He pushed the wand under his pillow and fell deeply asleep.

The next morning Harry stared listlessly at the food piled high on the table in the Great Hall. He wasn't very hungry. All he especially cared about was seeing his parents again.

He blinked. Wasn't he supposed to be researching Nicolas Flamel? Harry leaned his chin against his hand as he nodded off. It just didn't seem that important anymore. Who cared what the three-headed dog was guarding? What did it matter if someone was trying to steal whatever-it-was? Who cared if someone was trying to kill him?

"Do you feel alright, Potter?" Prefect Pitts was looking at him like a nurse might.

"Mm," he said noncommittally. Harry plotted to get away from his keeper and retrace his steps back to the room with the mirror. An idea struck clear in his mind. He stood up suddenly. "I'm going to the loo."

Pitts as usual followed him.

Harry propped the door open. "I don't want to touch the door after I've washed my hands," he announced.

She rolled her eyes and then returned to the book in her hands.

Once Harry was out of her view, he slipped the cloak over his head. He quietly tiptoed out of the bathroom and down the hall right by her; Pitts never lifted her head.

Shortly after, Harry entered the room with the mirror again. The room was much brighter this time with the low-hanging sun angling in through the windows across from the door.

Without taking off his cloak, Harry approached the mirror and sat down in front of it, his knees touching the glass surface. His parents were dancing this time to music he couldn't hear. They waved in greeting though, not missing a step.

Longingly, Harry watched them.

Then his vision blurred and he realized tears had slipped down his cheeks. Taking off his glasses, he quickly wiped them and sniffled loudly.

When he put his glasses on and looked up at the mirror again, his mother was kneeling next to him with her arms wrapped around his reflection, whispering silently to his ear.

His dad crouched on the other side of him with a hand on his reflection's shoulder, rubbing it in what Harry thought was a comforting manner.

He smiled weakly at them, and they smiled back. His mother mouthed 'I love you, Harry.'

A strangled sob escaped him. He wanted that more than anything to know what it was like to be loved. His palms pressed against the mirror.

There was a noise outside the door that caused Harry to retract his arms, body twisting around to look.

Luminous yellow eyes peered curiously through the crack between door and frame. Harry remained quite still where he was, holding his breath.

After what seemed an age, Mrs. Norris turned and left.

'I'll see you later,' he mouthed to his parents. They nodded in understanding and waved goodbye.

He went back to the loo where Pitts was leaning against the wall. Harry went inside and took off the cloak bunching it into his pocket again. He washed his hands and wiped his face. His eyes were reddened around the edges and bloodshot.

Harry walked out anyway, not even glancing in the prefect's direction. "Back to the dungeons then?"

He felt her eyes pierce a hole in his back. "You took an awfully long time."

Harry shrugged.

A half-day and two meals later, Harry stared listlessly at the dormitory's ceiling. He knew it wasn't wise to sneak out after Professor Snape had warned him, and he respected the adult enough not to. He wondered about the mirror, whether it was a gateway to the underworld or not.

The subsequent morning, Harry sluggishly slipped on clean clothes, not even bothering to try comb his hair down. After hardly eating any breakfast, Harry went to the adjoining loo and Pitts dutifully followed, staying outside the room.

The snow hasn't melted outside yet, Harry thought absently as he passed the windows under his cloak. It had been too easy to sneak past the prefect.

Now, he was walking quickly, wanting to spend as much time as he could in front of the mirror.

And there they were again, his mother and his father, and one of his grandfathers who nodded happily. Harry sank down onto the floor, hugging his knees. Who cared about Pitts and Professor Snape? There was nothing here to stop him from staying with his family. Nothing at all.

"So—back again, Harry?"

Harry's insides turned to ice. His relatives moved aside so he could see the headmaster without having to turn around. None other than Albus Dumbledore was sitting on one of the desks along the wall. Harry must have walked straight past him, so desperate to get to the mirror he hadn't noticed him.

He almost responded and then held his breath. He was wearing a cloak that made him invisble… How could Dumbledore see him?

"Strange how nearsighted being invisible can make you," said a smiling Dumbledore.

Something twisted inside of Harry.

"So," Dumbledore said, slipping off the desk to sit on the floor right next to Harry, "you like hundreds before you, have discovered the delights of the Mirror of Erised."

"How can you see me, sir?"

"Oh, I can't. That's the brilliant part of it," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye.

Harry frowned and then it came to him. "You were the one who sent me the cloak."

Dumbledore nodded and then gestured towards the mirror. "I expect you realize what the mirror does?"

"It… shows my dead family…"

"If a greedy person stood in front of the Mirror of Erised, they would be surrounded by piles of Galleons, enough to swim in. If it was someone who wanted to show off, perhaps they would be shown with trophies of sports events they fancy," Dumbledore said calmly. "But the happiest man on earth would be able to use this mirror like a normal mirror. He would see himself exactly as he is."

Harry thought. "It shows us what we want… whatever we want."

"Yes and no," Dumbledore said quietly. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. However," Dumbledore's eyes slipped past Harry to look at the mirror's surface, "this mirror will give us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they have seen, or been driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible."

Harry shook his head. "I won't waste away."

"The Mirror of Erised will be moved to a new home tomorrow." Dumbledore looked over his half-moon glasses with a strong gaze. "I ask you not to go looking for it again. If you ever do run across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live: Remember that. Now, why don't you go back to your house's common room before Prefect Pitts does. Hmm?"

Harry stood up, dropping the cloak to his shoulders. "Sir—Professor Dumbledore? Can I ask you something?"

"Obviously you have just done so," Dumbledore said with a smile, not put off by Harry's floating head, "But you may ask me one more question."

"What would Professor Snape see if he looked in this mirror?"

Dumbledore's face was gently solemn. "I believe you already know the answer to that, Harry."

Harry stared. "No I don't. How would I know his deepest desire?"

"I, myself, am holding a pair of socks. Thick, woolen ones."

"Socks, sir?" Harry said doubtfully.

"One can never have enough socks," Dumbledore said sagely. "Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People insist on giving me books!"

That seemed odd to Harry somehow, but before he could say another word Dumbledore had disappeared.

"Headmaster?" Harry looked this way and that, but Dumbledore was gone. Highly fishy behavior, Harry thought. Harry felt that the headmaster had been less than truthful.

"Right this way, professor," Filch's voice said.

Running to stand by the wall, Harry quickly covered his head with the cloak, just as the door slammed open.

Professor Snape walked in surveying the dusty room with a look of distaste. Then his eyes fell on the mirror and his entire body went rigid.

Even though Harry desperately wanted to wait and listen to the conversation, he quietly snuck to the door.

"Mrs. Norris says that boy has been in this room many times," Filch said with confidence.

"So he has," Professor Snape's voice drawled behind Harry as he slipped through the door. Harry hurried down the corridor back to the Slytherin dungeons.

Looking both ways to check to see if anyone was around, Harry took the cloak off and resolutely walked to the portrait in front of the Slytherin House, who glared at him.

Harry said, "Ghost Shrimp", but the Thin Woman sniffed at him. "That's not the password."

"That was the password an hour ago, before you decided to ditch me," Pitts' angry voice said sternly.

Harry startled a little and then smiled. "I wanted to go visit the Mirror of Erised," he said honestly.

Pitts looked at him attentively. "Why would a dangerous, Restricted artifact like that be lying about?"

Harry shrugged, feeling a bit bereft at the words he choked out. "The headmaster caught me and said the mirror would be moved so I won't be able to find it again."

With a grin, Pitts turned sideways facing the portrait. "The Mirror of Erised is supposed to be legend, and the stories connected to it always end tragically. It's a good thing Professor Dumbledore interceded when he did as the effects of that mirror are addictive and pernicious."

"Addictive? A mirror?" Harry carefully scanned her face and realized she wasn't joking.

"Potter," Professor Snape thundered behind him.

Harry jumped, whirling around. "S-sir?"

"Be sure you attend dinner." Professor Snape turned to the portrait. "Newt's eye."

Still off-kilter, Harry stared after the adult. He knew what Harry had been up to but he didn't punish him.

"If you have any trouble sleeping, let me know," Pitts stated as they walked into the common room.

Maybe it was because the New Year's holiday was near that Professor Snape didn't punish him… Yet, Harry severely doubted that the time of season had anything to do with it.


	11. Labeled Pariah

_**Author's Notes: **Fun fact: J K Rowling is a student of classical literature. This is evident in idea of the Invisibility Cloak. You see, Plato had written a story called the Ring of Gyges, which was about a shepherd named Glaucon who discovered a ring which would turn him invisible (This also reminds me of the One Ring from Lord of the Rings). With this ring of invisibility, the modest shepherd suddenly decides to seduce the king's wife, kill the king, and seize the dead monarch's power. Glaucon argues that "no one[...] would be incorruptible that he would stay on the path of justice, or bring himself to keep away from other people's possessions and not touch them, when he could take whatever he wanted[...] with impunity, go [...]and have sex with anyone he wished, kill or release from prison anyone he wished, and do all the other things that would make him like a god among humans."  
_

_Heavy stuff, I know. But it just really brings home how awesome Harry is and why Dumbledore is impressed with his character because Harry's use of the Invisibility Cloak spotlights his virtuous thinking and that Harry is the rare sort of person who can be trusted with power. And just think, at this time Harry's only eleven! Could you have resisted using the cloak against your enemies?_

* * *

After several sleepless nights, Harry finally understood what Pitts had meant about the mirror and the random bit about sleeping. He couldn't forget what the mirror had shown him, and ended up dreaming over and over again about living with his parents only to wake up upset and disappointed that they weren't still alive. Three nights later, he was having nightmares about the both of them disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high-pitched voice cackled with laughter. It was hard to fall asleep with that to look forward to.

A week before term was to begin, Harry finally finished the abnormally thick scrolls Snape had given him. However, he didn't turn them in. Instead, with the free time he had, Harry practiced the curses and counter-curses he'd learned from Gilbert months ago on the dummy he'd managed to Transfigure from his fancy night robes, which he hadn't worn since the night that Professor Snape had yelled at him. The practice had been great fun so far; at times, a curse would unexpectedly bounce off the dummy and Harry didn't mind ducking to avoid its effect because it felt like he was actually fighting a real person and not the headless, limbless dummy on a springy tripod that he'd created.

His roommates came back a day before term was to resume. Malfoy and Theodore, in particular, mercilessly ribbed him for not giving them Christmas gifts. As Harry had explained in the letter, he hadn't expected anything and when was he supposed to have had time to go shopping?

Malfoy thought the dummy was a brilliant piece of work, even if Harry had altered an expensive gift to create it. Harry reminded him that he no longer had any interest in wearing them. In response, Malfoy cracked a joke about his Y-fronts which sent his other three roommates rolling in a fit of laughter. Harry figured there was something he was missing and opted to ignore their teasing.

"What's this?" Malfoy asked, opening Harry's photo album without asking. "Nott, come check this out!"

"They're photos of my mum and dad." Harry tried not to hover, but despite his laidback attitude it was obvious the album was very precious to him.

"Well, whoever gave it to you must've fancied your mum. You can just tell," Theodore said shrewdly.

Harry blinked. That was the oddest thought ever, to think of Professor Snape as a young man courting his mum. "How do you figure?"

Theodore gave him a grin. "Malfoy, why don't you explain it?"

With a smirk, Malfoy pointed out the first page. "I know you're rather inexperienced, Potter… However, it's obvious that this girl is flirting with whoever's holding the camera. It's all in her body language."

Harry couldn't see it, but he nodded anyway. He vowed to never tell them who gave him the photos, no matter how much they bothered him. He especially did not want to give Professor Snape a reason to be even nastier to him. He seemed the type of adult to strike when you least expected it.

* * *

As the school's second term progressed, Harry and his year-mates fell back into a steady rhythm: classes, study periods, and free time. After he had turned in the last of the scrolls and a rolled parchment about the brewing of wax-based cauldron paste, Harry was given a clean slate in terms of detention and Independent Potion Study with another strongly-worded lecture about following the rules and staying out of trouble. Nevertheless, Harry felt smothered as his year-mates followed him about whenever they had free time under the pretext of wanting to be around him. From his experience with Prefect Pitts, Harry knew that their Head of House must have put them up to it.

Thank Merlin for Quidditch practice, Harry thought a week after term had started. The nightmares eased up when he was too exhausted to do anything but collapse into bed.

At their next Quidditch practice, Marcus Flint grunted at his fellow Chaser after shrinking Harry's broom down again.

"What?" Adrian Pucey said with a gasp of excitement.

"What?" The two Beaters, Bole and Derrick, asked eagerly, not having heard it either.

"I said that Professor Snape is refereeing the Gryffindors' next game," Flint said.

"This'll be great. He'll penalize them so much they'll be at a disadvantage against the Hufflepuffs," Bletchley said gleefully. Thickset, monstrously big Cassius Warrington, another third year and a Reserve Chaser, grunted. Harry frowned slightly confused at their excitement.

"If the Gryffindors lose their next game, we'll be sure to win the Quidditch cup," Terence Higgs, the Reserve Seeker, explained to Harry.

Harry tried not to show his exasperation with his teammates. They evidently didn't care that Professor Snape was giving the Slytherins an unfair advantage. Then again, Harry knew he shouldn't be surprised since they believed in the motto, 'Might makes right.' It was simply depressing. "Why is Snape refereeing?"

"Maybe Madam Hooch couldn't do it. Who knows?" Pucey answered.

As they had finished Flint's round of intense practice ten minutes ago, Harry and the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team headed back to the castle. They made it to the common room, and then everyone split up to visit with their mates.

Harry went up to his dormitory since he had a Potions essay to complete. Hermione had caught him in the dungeon corridor after the first Potions class of the term and told him matter-of-factly that she still hadn't found what she'd been looking for. Even though the Slytherins cooed and crowed over her 'breaking up' with Harry, he had understood what she'd meant. No sign of Nicolas Flamel.

In the dormitory, the beds were all empty. Harry had expected at least Theodore to be around...

He sighed. After every Quidditch practice he'd been ravenous of late. Digging out the last Chocolate Frog Harry had been given at Christmas from his pocket, he unwrapped it biting the frog's head off while it was still squirming in his fist.

Harry looked at the Famous Wizard Card. "Dumbledore again?" He said, disappointed. He flipped it over, rereading the back and nearly gasped in shock. He found Nicolas Flamel!

Jumping to his feet, Harry grabbed his quill off his desk and ripped down a piece of parchment paper from the neat pile sitting in a cubby.

Hermione,

I just discovered that Nicolas Flamel was an alchemist! It was on Dumbledore's Famous Wizard Card. I've attached it to the letter—it says that Dumbledore is famous for 'his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel'! Hope this helps!

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

He quickly folded the parchment, used a Stickfast Charm to stick the pentagon card to the parchment, and placed it into an envelope, which he quickly addressed; he flipped it over, placed a small block of wax on it, and then waved his wand over it. As soon as the wax had melted, Harry quickly pressed the school's crest into it—since it was the only one he had—and nearly knocked his glasses off when he bumped into Theodore.

"What've you got yourself into, Harry?" His sandy-haired friend didn't look surprised.

"Can you walk with me to the Owlery?"

Theodore looked at him and then nodded, loping along easily even though Harry was practically racing down the corridor. They didn't have much time before curfew and Harry didn't want to be caught and given detention.

Before long, they were taking the winding stairs two at a time into the warm, but smelly Owlery.

Hedwig hooted softly and flapped her wings at Harry, disgruntled that he hadn't bothered to visit her since term started.

"I need you to deliver this at breakfast tomorrow," he said. He left the letter next to her roost. She jerked forward and nipped his finger. He grinned and gently stroked her soft feathers. "Thanks, Hedwig."

With that, they meandered their way back to the dungeons. Harry listened as Theodore spoke about his international travels to New Zealand with his Da. A certain kind of longing filled Harry as he listened. He'd never even been outside the country before. Theodore was very lucky.

"Harry," Theodore said into the lull of their conversation as they walked through the dungeons. "Maybe I could help you figure out which Dark artifact it is?" He sounded as if he fully expected his offer to be turned down. "You're still looking right?"

"Well," Harry said hesitantly. "Whatever-it-is isn't actually Dark... but it would help If you happen to know why Nicolas Flamel is a famous alchemist—"

"Merlin," Theodore breathed out. "That's what's being guarded? No wonder someone wants it so badly!"

"Theo, what is it?"

"The Philosopher's Stone is about the size of your palm. It can either create piles of gold out of bum metals or be used as a catalyst to make the Elixir of Immortality."

Harry stared, waiting for Theodore to tell him he was kidding. It was quite the game for his housemates to make things up and see if Harry would believe them. "So, do you think that whoever jinxed my broom could possible want to nick this stone?"

"Yes, Harry. All sorts and types want that stone for nefarious purposes."

"Can we keep this a secret then? I don't want it falling into the wrong hands."

Theodore sighed. "I don't see why not. I suspect Malfoy would probably try to steal the stone for himself if we told him about it. Not that he needs any more bloody gold."

Harry grinned in agreement. "Thanks."

* * *

Another week went by. Hermione had sent Harry a note detailing information about Flamel, some of which Harry already knew because of Theodore and most that he hadn't. The fact that Nicolas Flamel was six hundred and sixty-five years old was simply astonishing. Harry would never want to live that long.

Unfortunately, Harry was getting the impression that Professor Snape was following him, even though Harry had done his very best to stay out of trouble. It was perhaps because Harry had detention for the next two weeks for an incident with Seamus Finnigan during lunch… Harry had hexed the Gryffindor with a Jelly-Legs Curse when Finnigan had been mid-cast to curse Nott for suggesting that the Gryffindor bullied Harry because he had what Finnigan lacked, Blood Status, whatever that was.

In addition, Potions lessons hadn't improved in the slightest. Harry received another detention for speaking out when the professor had bullied Longbottom too harshly for burning a hole through the bottom of his cauldron.

Had Theodore told Professor Snape about what the Cerberus was guarding? Harry hoped not. He didn't want the professor to think that he was scheming to do something ridiculous like steal it for himself. He had plenty of gold of his own and was much too young to care about living forever.

That was why the next afternoon Harry happily stomped up the rickety stairs to the Quidditch stands with his year-mates. It was a bright, slushy February day. When they reached the top, Hermione waved wildly. "Harry, over here!"

Surprisingly, when Harry went to go sit with her, only Theodore stayed by his side. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle decided to take the steps to get to the higher benches.

"Now don't forget, it's Locomotor Mortis," Hermione muttered to Ron as Harry took his seat.

"I know," Ron the Arse snapped. "Don't nag."

Harry's eyelids fluttered in surprise. "Er, why are you remembering the Leg-Locker Curse?" He let his eyes slide neutrally to Ron, who stared back.

Hermione flushed. "Well, you know. Just in case something strange happens again during the match."

"Harry won't be needing protection. He's not even on his broom," Theodore teased lightly.

"I can take care of myself, yes. I do appreciate what you're doing, Hermione, but I think this is overboard."

"Somebody jinxed your broom, mate," Ron said solemnly. "We're only making sure nothing happens again."

Theodore chuckled, sitting back so he could muffle it behind Harry's back.

Harry was stunned. "Since when have you been interested in my well-being?"

Ron frowned and looked away, grumbling about ungrateful Slytherins.

"Since Ron realized he was being an arse for no reason at all," Hermione said, eyes sharply looking to Ron. Harry snorted and then suddenly, the crowd erupted into cheers.

Harry jumped to his feet. Next to him both Hermione and Theodore jostled to see the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor teams walk out onto the green. Professor Snape was in referee robes.

"Hey!" Someone said from behind Harry's head. "Even the headmaster's here to watch!" Harry looked up to see that this was certainly the case.

The announcer's voice boomed out, calling who had which positions.

Then the Snitch was released and the Bludgers. The match had begun!

Harry watched with avid interest, listening to the announcer rattle off the Quidditch plays. Professor Snape certainly favored the Hufflepuff team. He kept awarding penalties to them even though it was a Beater's job to hit the Bludger towards the other team.

Hufflepuff Seeker Cedric Diggory, circled around on his broom looking around with intense concentration. He was bulkier than one would expect for being Seeker. The Gryffindor Seeker was the very same second-year girl, Eloise Midgen, who Harry had never met outside a Quidditch match.

Professor Snape awarded another penalty for no reason that Harry could see, though there were well over seven hundred fouls he could choose from. The crowd roared with fury.

Hermione gasped. "Watch, watch!"

Cedric Diggory was diving.

The Gryffindor Seeker caught on immediately and darted forward, catching the flash of gold that Harry saw streaking across the green.

And then the game was over.

Gryffindor had won.

Harry tried not to stifle his disappointment. The game had lasted only five minutes. Hardly enough to really enjoy it. He felt cheated as he watched the Gryffindors carry their young Seeker on their shoulders triumphantly. "See?" He said turning to his Gryffindor friends. "Nothing to worry about."

Neither of them looked convinced.

Theodore chuckled and muttered under his breath, "Beware the love of Lions."

Harry shot him a look and then glanced down at the pitch. Professor Snape was scowling towards the stands he was in. "I'll see you around," he said quickly to Hermione and Ron.

Theodore waved goodbye to the Gryffindors and led the way down the crowded stairs.

"Wait," Harry told him, "I'd like to be outside for a little bit longer."

Theodore nodded in understanding and casually wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders pulling him under the staircase. Of course, Theodore kept his eyes trained upward. Trying to glimpse people's unders, Harry supposed. Which was perfect for him when Theodore dropped his arm from Harry's shoulders. Harry quickly took several steps into the shadows behind them and wrapped his Cloak of Invisibility around himself.

When Theodore turned towards him not a minute later, the Slytherin started violently. "Oh, no," he moaned. Frantically, he ran out from under the stairs looking this way and that to no avail. Harry stepped forward and saw Theodore make a beeline towards their roommates: Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

Harry had precious minutes.

Hurriedly, he exited the stairwell making his way to the shed that held all the Quidditch supplies. Relieved to be alone, he leaned back against the shed's stone siding. The windows of Hogwarts Castle glowed red in the setting sun.

After what felt like an hour, the muddy Quidditch pitch had cleared. The students would be within Hogwarts now eating dinner.

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Harry recognized the figure's prowling walk. For one fearful moment, he was afraid Professor Snape was coming towards him—no, he passed by Harry unknowingly on his way to the Forbidden Forest.

Maybe the professor was collecting special potion ingredients… Harry's stomach gurgled hungrily. He paused when he remembered that Hagrid had mentioned odd happenings in the forest after Harry's very first Quidditch match…

Turning away from that newest mystery, Harry loped across the muddy path and stopped on the castle steps. After he cast a Cleaning Charm on his dirty shoes, he entered the Entrance Hall. As he passed the Great Hall, he saw that everyone was already at dinner. Sneaking into a narrow nook, he pulled off the Invisibility Cloak shoving it into his robes.

"There you are!" Theodore's voice echoed down the hallway. "Merlin, where have you been?"

"Sorry. I needed to slip away for a bit."

"Wicked," Theodore said. "You have got to teach me your Disillusionment Charm! I didn't see you at all."

Harry gave him a weak smile since he didn't even know what that charm was. "Why don't we go eat something?"

Theodore clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I saved you a spot on the other side of the table across from the Gryffindors."

"Thanks," Harry said.

"Take it as my thanks that you don't snog Granger in public. It's generally frowned upon to consort publicly with Gryffindors."

Harry snorted in surprise and then he was bowled over with laughter. It was a bizarre thought! When Harry rubbed his eyes to clear them, Theodore was staring at him uncertainly. "Hermione and I aren't dating. We're just friends. It'd be like me kissing you."

Theodore looked gobsmacked, and then his goofy grin was back. "Right then. Malfoy's been itching to tease you ever since you sat near a Weasley, and Parkinson can't wait to grill you about your nonexistent relationship with Granger."

Harry rolled his eyes and entered the Great Hall with his closest Slytherin friend.

* * *

The following week was horrendous. With Quidditch Practice and having to scrub cauldrons caked with unmentionable muck for detention, Harry again found that he had little time after classes to mess around, let alone do class work.

Finals were ten weeks from now, yet the teachers were gearing up as if they were only a few weeks away. A couple weekends after the last match, Harry took to the sky as Slytherin Seeker and caught the snitch about ten minutes into the game, beating Ravenclaw 200 to 70 and putting Slytherin in the lead for Quidditch points. Harry was elated that he hadn't been sent to the infirmary this time, nor did anyone attempt to jinx his broom. Harry had given the tight-lipped Professor Snape a victorious grin at that.

And then, Easter holiday was upon them. Nobody—that is, nobody that wasn't Malfoy—invited Harry to stay with them over the holiday and Harry didn't feel it was appropriate to ask. The one bright spot was that Hermione and Ron the Arse had stayed over the holiday. Even if Harry hadn't had a chance to meet up with them, correspondence passed more quickly between him and Hermione.

In the library with Gilbert, Harry was perusing One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi to write an essay on the properties of Dittany when he saw a very large person ambling around the library stacks. When Gilbert left a book on the Return cart and headed into a nearby aisle, Harry shut the textbook and immediately went to visit Hagrid. "Hullo," Harry whispered in excitement. He hadn't seen the half-giant in person for ages. "What're you doing here?"

Hagrid was hiding something behind his back, looking very out of place in his moleskin overcoat. "Jus' lookin'," he said shiftily, getting Harry's full attention at once. "Wotcha up to, 'Arry?"

"School work, loads and loads of it. And Professor Snape won't let me onto the Quidditch pitch until I'm completely done."

Hagrid looked suspicious. "Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel are yeh?"

Harry gave him a reassuring smile. "No, but I was wondering if there was anything else guarding the…" He leaned closer. "You-Know-What."

Hagrid twisted his body a bit to better hide what the object he was holding behind him from Harry. "Oh, as ter that. I can't say."

Darting to the side, Harry caught sight of a polished black, oblong stone in Hagrid's meaty hands before the larger man could react. "What's that you have?"

"Nothin'!" Hagrid nearly hissed as he turned away from Harry to shove whatever it was under his coat. "Listen, I'll write yeh later. Yeh can ask me anythin' then."

"See you," Harry said.

When Hagrid had left, Harry nosily checked the discarded books around him for any clues about why the Gamekeeper might be lurking in the library.

"Harry?" came Gilbert's quiet voice.

"Oh, sorry," Harry answered before he'd gotten a decent look at the books Hagrid must have taken out. "I just saw some interesting books."

The much shorter prefect stepped closer and grinned at the large pile on the table beside Harry. "Ah, yes. I, too, had a fascination with the dragons in my youth. I don't know any young wizard that doesn't. Are you thinking of becoming a Dragon Paternus when you're old enough?"

"A what?"

"One who breeds and raises Dragons. It's a well-respected, very dangerous occupation in the Wizarding world," Gilbert said. "A year never goes by without hearing of a death in that profession."

Harry was nearly lightheaded at the thought. So that hadn't been a rock at all! Hagrid had been holding a real dragon egg! He must be trying to hatch it and raise it. Hagrid had told Harry when they'd first met that he'd always wanted a dragon.

"By all means, don't let me scare you away from it," the prefect continued, oblivious to Harry's revelation. "I myself aim to be a Grade-O cursebreaker. Talent runs in the family, you see."

"That sounds great. Er, I should probably get back to my Herbology essay."

"Sure, sure."

Unfortunately, when Harry had reported that he'd finished his homework and politely asked to go outside, a smug Professor Snape had given him another scroll.

"I hate you," Harry said in response, snatching the scroll up. The professor merely smirked.

Cracking it open, Harry discovered that it was not nearly as exciting as the other scrolls, as it had extensive questions about British and International Wizarding Laws. He very nearly reduced it to ash out of spite. However, through sheer determination and the imaginings of flying playfully about the pitch, Harry slogged through it. It was good that he hadn't destroyed it or he would never have discovered that Hagrid was breaking the law by attempting to raise a dragon without a license.

It was really a shame that Harry couldn't go visit the Gamekeeper to see the dragon egg himself. Instead, Harry wrote to the half-giant asking after the unusual rock that needed sweltering hot temperatures to crack open properly. Harry also wrote to Hermione suggesting that she check on Hagrid when she had the chance, not mentioning the dragon. He was fairly sure that there was a way to check a letter for its contents and had no intention of getting Hagrid in trouble prematurely.

Easter holiday was over when Harry turned in the completed scroll on Wizarding Law. "No more, sir. My head's splitting and I can barely read anything without looking at it twice."

"Flint will escort you to the pitch when your free periods coincide with his." A pale hand dismissed him, and a grateful Harry left without another scroll.

The next morning, Harry received a letter. As usual he had to elbow the boys on either side of him to keep them from reading it. He ripped it open.

Hermione relayed that Hagrid had won it—the dragon that she didn't call by name—in a game of cards from a complete stranger. She added that Ron thought this was suspicious because of the very strict importation laws, something that Harry hadn't thought of. Charlie Weasley—Ron's older brother—worked with those types and had told his little brother all about Wizarding Law in relation to them.

Suddenly the letter was torn from his fingers. With a hand on his wand at his hip, Harry murmured an Ever-burning Fire Jinx that he'd learned from Sally-Anne's Christmas present, and the letter was turned to ash in Malfoy's hands.

A hiss came from the blond, "You could've taken my fingers off!"

Harry only gave him a smile. "Then keep your nose out of my business."

A few more days passed in a haze of homework, Quidditch practice, and classes. For once Harry had managed to avoid detention, even with Professor Snape's increased scrutiny.

As for the mirror, Harry didn't know whether its hold on him had broken or not after four months, but the nightmares had faded enough to not disturb his sleep.

During an early Mary breakfast, Harry received a note with thick lettering from Hedwig during breakfast, which simply said:

its hatching.

Harry almost wished he could go see it himself… He crumpled the note. Wait, what was he thinking? Harry had an invisibility cloak. So what, if he skived History of Magic class to go see a dragon hatch from its egg? He hardly thought that Professor Binns would miss him since the ghost sometimes called him James.

Ducking into an empty stall in the boys' bathroom before breakfast was over, Harry slipped the cloak on and snuck past an unwary Theodore. Brimming with anticipation, Harry ran down the covered bridge and down the hill to Hagrid's cabin.

Choosing a place behind the cabin where he wouldn't be spotted by someone looking from Hogwarts castle, Harry threw off the cloak and knocked on the heavy door. "Let me in, Hagrid! I want to see it!"

"Yeh shouldn't be here!" Nonetheless, Hagrid waved him inside and shut the door, looking out his windows furtively. The stone cabin was a sweltering temperature. Harry could feel sweat beading up on his forehead.

The sleek black egg was wriggling on the table. There was a single crack marring its surface.

Harry drew a chair up and watched it. Every little movement resulted in another cracking; sometimes another crack would show on the egg, but mostly it wriggled.

It was all in all very exciting for Harry.

Distantly a bell tolled, and then somebody else was knocking on the door. Hagrid waved for Harry to kneel behind the table and heavy chair. Before Harry thought to pull on his magic cloak, Hagrid opened the door and stuck his head out.

"It's nearly out," the half-giant said as he ushered Ron and Hermione inside and the shut the door. He looked out the window again.

"You skipped class?" Ron said sending a look towards Hermione.

"It was History of Magic. I wasn't missing anything," Harry responded quickly before Hermione lectured him.

There were deep cracks in the egg now and something was clicking inside of it.

Now they all sat in the chairs leaning forward eagerly.

All at once there was a scraping noise and the egg split open.

Out flopped a jet-black, shiny baby dragon. Harry thought it looked like a crumpled brolly covered in clear snot. It had a long snout with wide nostrils and huge wings compared to its tiny body. There were two stubby horns. It looked around with bulging orange eyes.

It sneezed and a couple sparks flew out of its snout.

"Inn'it he beautiful?" Hagrid murmured as he stroked the dragon's head. It snapped at his fingers, showing fangs. "Bless 'im, he knows his mummy!" Hagrid said.

Harry didn't think so.

"Hagrid," Hermione said primly, "How fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

Hagrid was about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his face—he leaped to his feet and ran to the window.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked.

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains—it's… it's a student—he's runnin' back ter the school."

Harry bolted to the window and looked out. Even at a distance there was no mistaking him.

Malfoy had seen the dragon—had seen Harry in Hagrid's cabin with an illegal dragon.

Harry's stomach dropped. "I've got to go. Sorry. Thanks for telling me, Hagrid!" He ran out the door as if his robes had caught on fire and he were a stuntman in a film.

When he made it down to the Slytherin common room, Professor Snape was waiting for him, arms crossed. Malfoy was smirking. The conversation in the room went out as if someone had muted them.

Harry sent Malfoy a glare, hoping he hadn't ratted Hagrid out.

"It appears that detention has no effect on your behavior, since I was just informed that you snuck out of the castle to visit the Gamekeeper knowing full well that you were endangering yourself. Do you have anything to say?"

"It's not like I went into the Forbidden Forest!"

"Your complete disregard and disrespect for this House has gone too far. So be it. Until further notice, you are branded a Pariah," the professor said slowly with disapproval, "No one need follow the Code of Etiquette when dealing with you. You may go wherever you like whenever you like alone as is your preference. You are Slytherin in name only."

The hush was so great now, Harry felt like he was underwater. Malfoy's smirk was gone; now, the other boy looked decidedly ill.

"Pariah, sir?"

"One without allies. Regaining the respect from your peers will be an uphill battle, Potter," he said nastily. "I hope you fail miserably in your endeavor." Then Professor Snape turned and entered his office, slamming the door shut behind him.

Harry was speechless. How was this punishment? The part about not having someone follow him around sounded exactly like Harry had wanted. With a grin at Malfoy, he went upstairs to his dormitory room… and found his trunk upended, the practice dummy ruined, and his desk overturned. The curtains had been torn off his bed and ink had been splashed all over the covers.

Goyle and Crabbe were playing Malfoy's chess set, while Theodore was talking to Harry's set. They had completely ignored his entrance.

That was fine by him. With a swish of his wand, Harry quickly put everything to rights, though sadly not precisely. The dummy listed to the right and his desk wobbled. While the covers were cleaned, they were permanently stained. Harry had no idea where the curtains had been stashed.

I can work with this, Harry thought.


	12. Litmus Test

_**Author's Notes: **Well, this chapter had interesting dialogue. Snape is a sly, manipulative bastard, but we already knew this.  
_

* * *

The silent treatment continued for several days after. Harry was a forgotten relic among his housemates. Nobody spoke to him, nobody responded to him. Harry was horribly reminded of the Dursleys, like he was something barely tolerated.

Hedwig dropped a letter at breakfast, and Harry caught it and opened it. Neither Sally-Anne nor Theodore asked after the letter; Harry had not exchanged a word with them since he had been made a Pariah. However, they had begun to sit on either side of him during mealtimes and would curtly change the subject if anybody tried to bully Harry about being raised by Muggles or being a Half-Blood or acting like a Gryffindork.

But when someone had called his mother, a Mudblood whore, Harry had attempted to hex her, and his spell was wordlessly deflected by a Shield Charm from the older student. Then Theodore and Sally-Anne had jumped to his aid; Sally-Anne had cast a Disarming Charm which failed against another Shield Charm while simultaneously Theodore had summoned a glowing barrier to deflect the curse from the older student's friend.

For their heroic assist, Head Boy Whitehead gave Harry's friends a week-long detention with the Potions professor, while the older students had been let off with only a warning… As far as Harry was concerned, Theo and Sally-Anne didn't need to talk to him to convey friendship; just like Ra-ee-ahtri, his selkie friend, he already knew they were his friends.

Inside the letter, Hermione outlined a plan where Ron and she carried Norbert—Hagrid had named the dragon that—to the astronomy tower so that Charlie's friends could ferry it away to Romania. As soon as he finished reading, Harry burned the letter up, feeling eyes on him. Professor Snape was staring at him from the High Table.

Harry waggled his eyebrows and grinned impishly. The stare instantly hardened.

During Transfigurations class, Harry overheard Malfoy boisterously talking about that poor despicable Weasley who was in the infirmary because of an infected dog bite. When he'd said dog, Malfoy's eyes flicked to Harry's, obviously enjoying that he knew it hadn't been any such thing. Harry wondered what the other boy's scheme was if he hadn't snitched on him immediately.

Exactly how did Malfoy plan to use this knowledge against Harry? Hagrid could get fired if it was found out that he illegally hatched a dragon… but then the half-giant had already raised a Cerberus pup and the headmaster had seen fit to use it as a guard dog instead of turning Hagrid over to the proper authorities…

Professor McGonagall's strict voice brought Harry out of his thoughts. "I expect a foot of parchment on the Transfiguration of living tissues, such as the rat tails you've worked on today, to inanimate objects by next class period."

As soon as the professor had dismissed them, Harry wandered into the infirmary after a friendly Hufflepuff prefect directed him in the correct direction when Harry seemed to be walking around aimlessly.

Hermione was already there, fussing over Ron. Madam Pomfrey looked at Harry with a calculating eye and then turned back to her parchments.

"It's not just my hand," Ron whispered, "although that feels like it's about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books but he really said that so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me—I've told her it was a dog, but I don't think she believes me—I shouldn't have called him a snot-nosed, rotten-toothed wanker the last time I saw him, that must be why he's doing this."

Harry wanted to tell him that it was probably Harry's fault. Harry was a Slytherin Pariah: a reject and an outcast as far as he could tell. Malfoy had always disliked Ron and insulted him, but now Malfoy had made his bullying more personal like a cat that was teasing a mouse. Was it because Malfoy knew a more direct form of bullying had no effect on Harry? But why would he target Ron the Arse? It would make more sense if he'd gone after Hermione if he wanted to bother Harry. Harry rubbed his head a little. Questioning others' motives caused Harry's head to hurt worse than trying to read lines of Magical Law.

"It'll all be over Saturday," Hermione said, but that didn't soothe Ron at all. On the contrary, he bolted upright and was covered in sweat.

"Midnight on Saturday!" he said in a hoarse voice. "Oh no—Malfoy—oh no—I've just remembered—Charlie's letter was in that book Malfoy took, he'll know when we're getting rid of Norbert."

The idea clicked into his head that Malfoy planned to catch the two Gryffindors in the act and have them punished. Harry didn't have a chance to reveal his magic cloak because Madam Pomfrey came over and made them leave, saying that Ron needed sleep.

Harry and Hermione left the infirmary after she bid Ron goodnight.

"It's too late to change the plan," Hermione said morosely as they walked slowly down the hall. "I haven't got time to send Charlie another owl. This was our only chance to get rid of Norbert without the poor thing being put down by the officials in the Ministry, but with Ron's hand all swollen…"

"I can help," Harry offered, "I know a lot of shortcuts and I can run interference if anyone catches us."

Hermione looked at him and then smiled. "Okay." And that single word of trust caused Harry to warm. "At the stroke of eleven, I'll be outside Hagrid's cabin," she whispered very quietly.

Harry smiled back. "I'll be there."

* * *

A couple days later, Potions class was horrendous. Harry's housemates were snickering at him and whispering, and nobody from his house would partner with him. The professor had forced him to pair up with Neville Longbottom, since Ron was still in the infirmary. Hermione was working with Finnigan.

Longbottom was a complete wreck with potions. Harry had to slowly show him how to mince the pickled crimbles at least two times, and when that didn't work Harry had very gently covered his hand over Longbottom's shaking one and showed him exactly how much pressure was needed on the knife handle.

"Don't you hear them, Harry?" The cowardly Lion whimpered out, managing to decently mince the crimbles.

"Ignore them. Just focus on the task at hand." Harry turned towards the waxy coriander kernels. They needed to be crushed and dusted into the potion's already bubbling base.

"Focus on the task at hand," Malfoy's voice mimicked loftily with obvious mockery. "Listen to him pretend to be some wise old monk."

Ignoring him, Harry sprinkled three pinches of coriander into the potion and it turned a deep burgundy. "Now add a pinch every time I stir it six times." He lowered the stir-rod into the volatile potion and began to carefully stir the thick potion anti-clockwise. Longbottom whispered a count and then added a pinch of the minced rubbery white dots. Soon the potion had turned pink. Once the crimbles had dissolved, the potion turned a sharp green.

"Tear off a leaf of liverwort and add it once the potion looks more yellow. Got that?"

The Gryffindor was staring at the potion in the cauldron like it was some miraculous thing.

"Longbottom. Did you hear what I said?"

He nodded dumbly, eyes fixed on the potion.

"Whoops," Crabbe said bumping into their table.

The Antidote for Rashes sloshed over and immediately caught on fire.

Harry took out his wand and extinguished the flame, like he'd been shown to do during Independent Potions lab. He sighed heavily. They would have to stay overtime to get the potion completed.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Longbottom." Professor Snape tsked as he walked past while Malfoy's high-pitched laughter encouraged peals of laughter from the other Slytherins.

"I'm—I'm sorry, Harry," Longbottom squeaked.

"If you want to blame someone, there's this pointy-faced bloke I know who thinks he's better than everyone else," Harry said evenly, since he knew Crabbe wouldn't have thought to sabotage them on his own. Grabbing the cauldron's rounded handle with a gloved hand, Harry dumped the burnt contents of the cauldron into the stone sink at the back of the Potions lab and scrubbed it out with the neutralizing water pouring from the gargoyle spout.

After lunch, Harry walked with Longbottom to Snape's classroom to successfully complete the assignment. They didn't finish until late afternoon. Afterwards, Harry ate a quick dinner.

Then, he was heading to Quidditch practice. It was just what he needed after a long day—he stopped as he saw Terence Higgs flying around on his Nimbus Two Thousand. Harry stared up at his Quidditch team and realized he'd been put on reserve. Feeling absolutely horrible, he left returning to his empty room.

So he would not be playing as Seeker in the last Slytherin match of the Quidditch season against the Hufflepuffs this Saturday.

For that reason alone, being a Pariah was decidedly unpleasant.

* * *

On Saturday night, it was very dark and very cloudy, perfect weather for sneaking about in Harry's opinion. He had snuck out of the first year's dormitory and left through the portrait. Once he was out of her sight, he put on his cloak and snuck through the castle to Hagrid's cabin. The professor didn't care if he broke curfew anymore, which was a plus of being a Pariah.

Outside Harry jumped when Hermione asked, "You still want to do this?" She looked uncertain.

"Ah. I said I would, didn't I?"

Her expression was very serious. "I mean it if you're going to bail out, now—"

"I won't," he insisted.

"Oh, yeh're here," Hagrid said accidentally interrupting whatever Hermione had to say, "Great, come an' see 'im. I gave 'im a bit of somethin' so he quiets down." They entered the stone cabin to see that Hagrid had Norbert packed in a crate. The half-giant rambled about the amenities he'd provided to the toddler dragon, which kept thumping its tail against the sides of his cage. Harry worried that they might not be able to sneak Norbert through the castle if he was making such a racket.

"Bye-bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobbed as Harry and Hermione picked the crate up.

How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, Harry wasn't sure. It had to be plain old perseverance and luck, since he had chosen not to reveal his magic cloak to Hermione. Midnight ticked nearer as they heaved Norbert up the marble staircase in the entrance hall and along dark corridors, avoiding the animated paintings when they could.

Staircase after staircase went by. A couple of times Harry stopped them thinking he heard something, but there wasn't anything.

"Nearly there," Harry panted as he led them down another shortcut that would bring them to the corridor next to the tallest tower.

A sudden movement ahead of them almost caused them to drop the crate with the dragon that apparently had fallen asleep. They shrank into the shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people grappling with each other ten feet away. A lamp flared.

Wearing a hairnet, a Professor McGonagall in bathrobes had Malfoy by the ear. "Detention!" She shouted. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you—"

"You don't understand, Professor! Hermione Granger's coming—she's got a dragon!"

"What utter rubbish! Come on—I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

Once they'd gone, Hermione and Harry carried the crate up the final flight of stairs. They stepped out into the cold night air.

Hermione did a little jig. Harry covered his mouth when he chuckled at the sight of her silly dancing.

"Malfoy's got detention! That snot deserves it. His favorite curseword is Mudblood."

Harry frowned. Malfoy hadn't used the word within Harry's earshot since he'd used the Disarming Charm successfully on the other boy. He wondered why Malfoy refrained around him but not around Hermione.

Norbert thrashed in his cage making a gargled trumpety roar.

"Shush, Norbert," Hermione said, crouching by the cage. She pulled out what looked like mulched jerky and dropped it below the baby dragon's head. "Here."

The dragon chomped it whole and settled down.

A few minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness.

The friends of Ron's older brother were a cheery lot, rigging Norbert's crate up to the harness across their broomsticks before the two could even offer any help. Then Harry's and Hermione's hands were getting shook as they were quietly thanked. And then, they were gone… Norbert with them.

The Gryffindor and Slytherin slipped back down the spiral staircase, their hearts lighter now that Norbert was out of their hands.

At the bottom of the stairs was Mrs. Norris who meowed plaintively. Before either of them had a chance to react, Mr. Filch stepped out of the darkness.

"Well, well, well," he whispered raspily, "We are in trouble."

Harry looked over to Hermione, who had gone as white as a sheet.

Mr. Filch led them to Professor McGonagall's office. A trembling Hermione was ordered to sit down and wait. "Snape's already dealing with the other brat. One more shan't bother him at this ungodly hour."

Harry smiled for Hermione. "Good luck," he whispered. She only looked at the floor. It was very likely that she hadn't gotten in trouble since the Halloween troll.

Following Mr. Filch, Harry's brain ran through excuses, alibis, and wild cover-up stories. Harry knew none of them were up to snuff. He could slip away by putting on the Cloak of Invisibility. However, Mr. Filch had already seen his face, so that idea fell to the wayside.

"You seemed like a nice boy, Potter, not like your father," Mr. Filch said absently, "Dunno why you got into such mischief, luring two others out of their tower."

"Two?" Harry asked curiously, "Draco Malfoy's a Slytherin."

"I know that!" Mr. Filch snapped. "Yes, another boy—a chubby one, round-face, very clumsy?—Professor McGonagall caught him first. And a wild story he had to tell, he did. Some codswallop about transporting a dragon to Romania?" Mr. Filch scoffed. "Seems likely he found out what you and the girl were sneaking up to the tower and wanted to know whatfor." Mr. Filch sniggered lightly, "I never understood why Slytherin boys chat up Gryffindor girls. It's like reading Lady Fillaboo and Lord Cyrus—a tragedy if you ask me."

Harry recognized the title, surprisingly enough. It was the quintessential Wizard version of Romeo and Juliet. Then Harry's face burned. "We aren't dating. We really were lugging a baby Norwegian Ridgeback up to the astronomy tower," he said with complete honesty.

"Nasty little buggers, Norwegian Ridgebacks. Mrs. Norris would have caught ya making all that ruckus," Mr. Filch said snidely.

Harry heaved his next breath. It had been a miracle that they hadn't been caught. Well, Harry wouldn't have to wait long to wonder whether Professor Snape disbelieved him.

"Stay; sit," Mr. Filch ordered. "The professor will be seeing to you as soon as he finishes with the other one." The Hogwarts Caretaker shut the door and shuffled to the other, rapping the door with his knuckles. "Professor?"

Professor Snape opened the door, saw Harry, and then smiled contemptibly at him. "I'll take care of it."

"I reckon you will. This one didn't give me any trouble on the way up, not even a measly bribe."

"Thank you, Mr. Filch." Professor Snape's eyes glittered like shiny black beetles. Harry looked at his feet, seeing his hands tighten over his knees.

Mr. Filch lumbered out, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Professor Snape stepped into the room. The door slid shut without him propping it open. "Explain yourself."

"Ron Weasley was laid up by a dragon bite, so I decided to help Hermione carry a Norwegian Ridgeback to an appointed meeting place."

"And where did you get an illegal breed of dragon?" The voice was so icy that Harry's skin felt like a bucket of frigid water had been dropped over his head.

Harry could either feign complete ignorance—which wouldn't be believed—argue that that didn't really matter, or tell the professor the truth.

"I would be careful, Potter... whatever you say to me will have a direct effect on Nott and Perks."

He hadn't wanted to reveal Hagrid's role in this, but Harry didn't see any other option. Harry glared. "Hagrid won the egg at a game of cards from a complete stranger, so he took it home and hatched it. Hermione said that type of dragon would become unmanageable eventually, so she and Ron devised a plan to have Charlie Weasley send some of his mates over to ship it to Romania."

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry. "If it weren't for two solid pieces of evidence, I would have thought you'd gone up to the astronomy tower to cop off with that insufferable Miss Granger."

Harry's cheeks pinked. "I don't like her like that!" He said hotly.

Two notes were pulled from the folds of the professor's black robes. "A missive from Charles Weasley corroborating your story, and an anonymous note that reads 'It's Hatching' in Hagrid's usual butchered handwriting. I suppose this is the reason you skipped History of Magic last week."

Harry fidgeted and nodded.

"Don't fret about Slytherin's house points. Professor Binns never noticed," Professor Snape continued dryly, "If Draco hadn't gone to Hagrid's cabin on a whim, your secret would have been iron-clad." His beady eyes squinted at Harry. "Did you not think you were exceedingly lucky not to have been caught running along Hogwarts corridors with a dragon in a crate?"

Harry shrugged. It wouldn't surprise him if he was exceptionally lucky. How many others had survived a Killing Curse? Harry only knew of himself.

"If my godson hadn't volunteered himself as lookout and sent Filch and his mangy cat on a wild goose chase whenever they neared, be rest assured, you and Miss Granger would have been discovered earlier."

Malfoy had done what? "S-sir, but Malfoy—"

"As it was, Professor McGonagall came to investigate as soon as Filch had caught Longbottom. Had you placed a Quietening Charm on yourselves, Draco might not have even been caught at all."

"You say Malfoy helped?"

Professor Snape did not deign to answer Harry. "For aiding a Pariah in breaking curfew and several school rules, he will join you in serving detention with Professor Sprout next week."

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about that, but it must have shown on his face. "But, why would he help me?"

"Whatever those reasons are he has refused to rescind his loyalty to you. When I questioned him, he said nothing of your presence at the tower. Merlin knows why. You're the least trustworthy student I've ever had the displeasure of mentoring."

"I am trustworthy!"

Professor Snape's nostrils flared with anger. "The only loyalty you have is to yourself."

"That's not true!"

"You sold your Gryffindor friends out at a moment's notice!"

Harry blinked. "But—"

"Furthermore, the Gamekeeper could very well lose his job for hatching an illegal breed, and for what? For fear that you would face serious consequences for your decisions?"

"No!" Harry was on his feet, eyes blazing when his fury had come up violently. "Because you told me not to lie to you anymore!"

"Is that it?" Professor Snape said slowly with pronounced vehemence, "Or is it because you know I can tell when you aren't being honest?"

"Why are you so horrid?!" Harry yelled. "I thought I could trust you; that's why!"

"What exactly are you entrusting to me? Your friends' secrets? There's no real danger for you in those."

Hot rage unfurled inside Harry's head, while cold desolation creeped into his chest. "You don't understand," he said hollowly. "My mates are all I have." Harry had no family to speak of. He didn't have anybody else.

Snape traced a finger over his lower lip before he spoke again with a tone that suggested that Harry was very dull-witted. "Do you know why I made you Pariah, Potter?"

"Because you were tired of giving out detention and thought to encourage the rest of the house to bully me into submission, sir?"

"I merely gave you the opportunity to discover who your true friends were. You see, I promised each and every viper very unpleasant consequences and privilege revocations were they not to immediately disconnect themselves from any I declared as Pariah…"

"You," Harry growled, "threatened Theo and Sally-Anne?"

Snape huffed something oddly like a laugh and took a seat, resting his hands on the chair's arms. "Potter. Let me make this very clear to you. Whether you like it or not, a friend is ultimately someone you can reliably use. Finding each other distasteful is irrelevant as long as fraternity is maintained." Black eyes fixed onto Harry. "I advise that you treat the Malfoy heir with respect before he retaliates. Trust that you do not want a powerful pureblood family such as the Malfoys as enemies. On the other hand, once true loyalty is won, our house never wavers in its alliances…"

"If that's the long-view of Slytherin friendship, I don't want to participate," Harry stated fiercely. He didn't want or need Malfoy's help. Harry could take care of himself just fine.

Snape studied him for a long moment. "Am I to understand that the reason why you are Slytherin is because you'll do anything for power as long as it does not involve interpersonal power?"

"I never wanted to be in this bloody house," Harry spat out angrily. "And I don't want power! Only despots and evil Dark wizards want that!"

The professor raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps the hat placed you here to teach a valuable lesson about political power and leadership."

"I don't want to be a dictator or a Dark Lord!"

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. "Potter, you are an idiot to have developed such an aversion to the Slytherin House based off a few anti-Slytherin sentiments spoken on a train ride."

Harry was taken aback. "How did you know that?"

"Simple deduction, Potter."

"But someone could have told me that on the boat ride, or while we were waiting in the side room to the Great Hall."

"Both of which are significantly shorter spans of time… which calls into question my tendency to give you the benefit of the doubt. How surprising," Snape drawled nastily, "that the Boy-Who-Lived is so amazingly shallow as to form an opinion on a full fourth of his classmates in less than a half day."

"It wasn't helped by Malfoy's bullying or the high bleeding proportion of Dark Wizards that come out of here! You can't say that isn't cause for concern!"

There was a long pause as an unaffected Snape gazed at him. "Are you worried that you may join that list eventually?" Snape had the look of an adult unsympathetic to a child's plight.

"No!" Harry yelled hotly. "No, I'm not!"

Snape leaned forward menacingly. "You are lying to yourself, Potter. You are so terrified of the mere idea that you can't even allow yourself to contemplate it."

Harry looked away, feeling as if he'd lost.

"Fear… is one of the many motivations that drive wizards to the unethical side of the Dark Arts. If you are so terrified of such a possibility that you shut down and alienate yourself from the very people that struggle with the same stigma and temptations, you are sure to end up isolated, hated, and desperate." When Snape waited for a moment and Harry didn't say a word, the professor lifted an empty hand, which curled slowly as he spoke. "Alone... you will succumb to the darkness to gain power beyond your wildest dreams, but at the price of losing everything you hold dear." Another pale, long-fingered hand embraced the empty hand. "Together, you and your true allies will naturally repress each other's motivation to abuse authority and in the process you will have a better chance of retaining your principles and values in your common pursuit of power." Snape dropped his hands to the chair's arms and looked at Harry with muted expectancy.

Breathing in deeply, Harry stared at the floor. He hadn't thought anyone else worried about that besides him. He'd assumed that Slytherins like Malfoy wanted power to dominate and terrorize others. To think that Malfoy could be bluffing... well, that was a thought that had never occurred to Harry. A minute or so passed in silence, but Harry didn't know what to say when he looked up uncertainly.

"You appear to have learned a valuable lesson, so I see no point in continuing this absurd Pariah affair." Snape paused. "I suggest you take careful consideration of how you treat your housemates from now on." He gestured towards the door.

"Yes, sir," Harry whispered and quietly walked out of the office into the corridor leading directly to the common room. He moved silently up the dormitory stairs and pushed open the door. As usual the rest were fast asleep. Harry tried not to shuffle his feet in the room that amplified even the tiniest noise.

Opening his trunk to pull out an old school shirt he'd been using for jim-jams, Harry Switched his clothes with his wand. He picked up the cloak that felt like water and hugged it to his chest. It was then that he finally noticed in the dim light that the curtains on his bed were back.

He was relieved to see the familiar sight. He stood up when he felt someone's eyes on him. Harry saw Draco Malfoy propped up on his pillows, watching him.

"Thanks for helping us," Harry said without his usual resentment.

"'That's what friends are for', goes the common adage." Malfoy answered flippantly.

"Good night, Malfoy," Harry whispered as he crawled between the curtains and into bed.

"Good night, Potter," came a smug reply.

Harry still couldn't bring himself to trust him.


	13. A Full Moon Harvest

_**Author's Notes: **It's true what they say of Slytherins. They've got Machiavellian sensibilities. That is, "Never tell anyone the real reason you did something unless it is useful to do so." Hmm... sounds like Harry tends to do this with his own House. The big difference I think is that he's capable of caring a great deal for others without expecting anything in return. To Theodore and Sally-Anne, this is insensible yet refreshing. To Malfoy doing that is self-defeatist and why would you do that?_

* * *

The next morning, Harry—with his magic cloak tucked safely in pocket—cleaned himself up, but didn't stay long in the common room as he usually did with his selkie friend. He felt a little bad waving goodbye to her so quickly after she showed him a strange, growling creature with tentacles for legs on a leash of braided seaweed. She waved back in a friendly manner and then swam away with what must have been her pet.

Back in his room, Harry drew back the curtains of his bed, tying them to the four corners, and then laid in his bed reading Useful Dark Artifacts: Ancient and Modern that Theodore had given him for Christmas. The more he read the more he was surprised by what was considered 'dark' magic. All curses, hexes, and jinxes, he knew, were dark magic. He was surprised to learn that charmed or enchanted objects were quantified as dark if they animated the inanimate or summoned scavenger-type animals. From the biology primer during science lessons, Harry remembered that mushrooms, flies, crows, and vultures were all necessary in order for nature to deal with dead things. Did that mean that sometimes the Dark Arts were necessary as well?

Theodore was the first to rise. He hopped out of bed, grabbed his things from his trunk and ran downstairs without looking back. Goyle and then Crabbe woke up next, immediately stretching as soon as their feet touched the floor. By the time they stood up straight, the two boys seemed much limber. They, too, grabbed their things and went downstairs.

"How long have you been awake, Potter?" Malfoy's muffled voice asked grouchily.

"Much longer than you," Harry answered.

"What're you reading?" Malfoy said through a yawn.

Harry showed him the book and Malfoy squinted at it, rubbing his eyes. His hair was in disarray, but it still looked neater than Harry's usual was.

"That's supposed to be a Restricted book."

"Oh? I got it for Christmas." Harry looked it over curiously. It didn't seem like a bad book.

"Were you ever going to use the cheque I gave you?"

"I haven't figured out what I wanted yet."

Malfoy made an annoyed noise. "I knew I should have picked something out for you myself." He stomped over to Harry's trunk, ripped open the lid in a familiar manner, and grabbed the owl-order catalogue from it. Flipping the pages, Malfoy scanned them and then stopped. "This is what you want." He offered the catalogue to Harry pointing at an item.

"A broom rack? But I only have one broom."

Malfoy slid his finger lower and tapped agitatedly. "This one!"

"What do I need new glasses for?" Harry asked. The image kept changing from a pair of round-shaped glasses—like the pair he owned—to wrap-arounds.

"Rain-, fire-, and soot-resistant. Wind-proof. A pair of Glaxxes repels water, mud, and other messy hazards on the Quidditch pitch. Guaranteed to be synthesized to fit your face perfectly and worth every galleon of the thirty I gave you. Buy it. They'll send someone out here to measure you."

Harry stuck his finger in the page and flipped to the back. He tore out the order form and got out of bed. Sitting at his desk, he carefully filled out the order form with the item number and then attached the big square 30-galleon cheque with a sticking charm to the order form. Folding it carefully, he placed it in an envelope, addressed it, and applied the wax and seal to the back. "There. It'll be ready for Hedwig." He slipped it into his inner robes and patted the front.

Malfoy looked satisfied and grabbed his things to get ready downstairs. "Are you coming to breakfast, Potter?"

"Of course I am," Harry said picking up his leather schoolbag, which already held every book he needed for school.

Theodore, Crabbe, and Goyle were waiting in the common room. They were surprised to see Harry stepping out of the stairwell behind Malfoy, who turned towards the communal restroom after nodding towards his roommates.

"Hey, I heard you're not Pariah anymore, Harry," Theodore said apologetically.

A fresh-faced Sally-Anne popped in next to him. "Snape threatened to change our schedule to coincide with the Gryffindors if we engaged in conversation with you. Sorry about that."

"No, it's fine. Thank you for your help with the bullies. I'm a bit… hot-headed when it comes to my mum."

"Anyone would be," she responded.

Theodore smiled in a sympathetic manner. "You've got loads more self-control than I do. If someone insulted my bloodline, I would've hexed them on the spot."

Crabbe and Goyle shifted uncomfortably.

Harry looked at them. "I didn't really expect you two to stick up for me and that's alright."

"With the way Malfoy shoots off his mouth he needs as much protection as they can provide," Theodore quipped.

The large boys seemed relieved to hear that.

The common room was growing crowded as Slytherins woke up and departed to the Great Hall. Now that he was no longer Pariah, his older housemates ignored him, excepting Prefects Gilbert and Pitts.

"So, Malfoy said there was a… particularly venomous creature you handled last night with your female companion," Theodore mused quietly.

Sally-Anne blinked. "What creature?"

"A baby dragon," Harry whispered. Her eyes grew big. "I should think that Norbert will be very happy in Romania."

Theodore cackled. "Fantastic."

"Goodness," Sally-Anne said, unsure about what else to say.

Once Malfoy joined them, the six Slytherins left the common room to go to breakfast.

It was when they entered the Great Hall and saw the giant hourglass full of rubies that Harry knew what had happened to Neville Longbottom and Hermione. They'd lost their House a lot of points: a hundred in all. Slytherin was now in the lead for the House Cup, and Harry's housemates were jubilant at this prospect. In fact they cheered for Hermione Granger in the halls, clapping and whistling as she walked past. "Thanks Granger!" They crowed. "We owe you one!"

Harry couldn't tell if they were sarcastic or sincere. Maybe both, he thought glumly.

At least Ron—newly healed from the dragon bite—remained by Hermione's side. It meant she wouldn't have to face her housemates' anger alone. In their shared Potions class, she kept her head down, avoiding attention, and worked in silence. She didn't seem in the mood to talk to Harry nor did Longbottom.

Harry was almost glad that the exams weren't far away. Even though the exam for Defense Against the Dark Arts was going to be a joke, he was tired of trying to memorize complicated potions, learn charms by rote, memorize the dates of magical discoveries and goblin rebellions… Yet, it was a little bit easier now that he was actively studying with his fellow Slytherins. Theodore was brilliant at History of Magic, Sally-Anne at Astronomy, and Malfoy at Potions. Harry never realized that charms didn't come so easily to them—though to be fair, charms wasn't exactly effortless for Harry either. He had to practice many times before he could do them by heart.

Crabbe and Goyle were both equally bad at school work across the board, which was why the quartet took turns tutoring them and as a result became very adept at their subjects. Meanwhile, Parkinson and her trio of friends studied on their own. They had been decidedly neutral during Snape's Pariah test and had kept to themselves afterwards.

About three weeks before the exams were to start, Harry's resolution not to interfere in anything that didn't concern him was put to an unexpected test. Walking back from the library with Theodore, Harry heard somebody whimpering from a classroom up ahead.

He put a hand on Theodore's shoulder to stop him and put a finger to his lips.

As they drew closer to the classroom, they heard Professor Quirrell's voice.

"No—no—not that again—please—"

It sounded as though someone was threatening him. Harry moved closer, but Theodore's hand came down on his shoulder to stop him from getting too close.

"All right—all right—" they heard Professor Quirrell sob.

Next second, Professor Quirrell came hurrying out of the classroom straightening his turban. Harry and Theodore hugged the wall.

Professor Quirrell was pale and looked as though he was about to cry. He strode out of sight, without seeing them, leaving a foul smell in his wake.

Harry waited until Professor Quirrell's footsteps had disappeared, and then peered into the classroom. It was empty, but a door stood ajar at the other end. Harry was halfway toward it before Theodore called, "Harry!"

Disappointed, Harry left the open door and went back to Theodore who hurried him back towards the dungeons. Harry had wanted to know who was bullying Professor Quirrell. "What's wrong?"

"There's something Dark lurking about, Harry. Something really Dark." Theodore pulled his robe sleeve up and showed Harry a corded bracelet with a single black stone set to the inside of his wrist. "This pendant goes ice-cold when a Dark creature is nearby. Lately, Professor Quirrell has been setting it off."

Harry found this worrisome, but he didn't say so. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know. Could be a ghoul, could be an energy leech. Whatever it is, my bets are on possession."

Maybe whatever it was had caused strange happenings in the forest… Maybe it had been drawn into their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher because of the Philosopher's Stone…

Theodore's blue eyes sharpened. "I know that look. This is beyond our responsibility, Harry. We should go tell Professor Snape what we heard."

"But what if Professor Snape doesn't believe us? A stone going cold won't be much proof of anything." Harry turned to the door but Theodore stopped him.

"Then we'll go to the Deputy Headmistress or the Headmaster, but we won't have to. Professor Snape will believe us. And off that note, Harry, don't you have detention with the Herbology professor to worry about tonight?"

Harry had very nearly forgotten. "It's a good thing you reminded me," he grumbled.

It had been another hour before he could find a moment to himself. Harry wrote to Hermione about the strange scene he had stumbled upon with Professor Quirrell and sealed the envelope. He placed it next to the forgotten Owl Order in his pocket. Harry had absolutely no intention of telling Professor Snape; if Theodore wanted to, that was fine by Harry.

Hours later after Harry had eaten and given both letters to Hedwig, Harry was on his way to Professor Sprout's greenhouse with Malfoy at eleven o'clock sharp. Malfoy seemed far more alert than Harry was.

"I have some Wideye Potion if you need it," the other boy said.

"I'm fine."

"Here." A vial was shoved into Harry's hand. "You look like you're about to fall over."

Harry thought that was a funny comment since he didn't feel tired. "Thanks." He pocketed it.

Malfoy snorted. "Stubborn git."

Before they even entered the greenhouse, the stench of manure was especially strong within twenty yards of the building. Malfoy made a gagging noise. "Merlin, don't tell me we'll be shoveling dragon shit. Ugh, I'm not dressed for this."

Harry laughed because he had rather assumed that they would be playing in the dirt, so to speak, and had worn his worst set of clothing from the Dursleys in anticipation. Harry liked gardening. He wondered if this punishment might be directed at Malfoy. After all, every first year had taken an aptitude test on general likes and dislikes; an inventory, which may well have been designed to hand Professor Snape the power to inflict the most efficient form of discipline on students who he had little time to get acquainted with.

The Herbology professor seemed to be in high spirits despite the late hour. "Good evening, boys. You will be assisting me in collecting Moonseeds and Aconite. After we've filled the jars with seeds and prepared bundles of leaves to hang in the drying room, you will shovel the fertilizer to the new beds in the next greenhouse over without magic to aid you. This includes Cleaning spells. Now get your dragon-hide gloves on. The Moonseeds will glow any second now."

Harry slipped them onto his hands and waited where he and Malfoy were directed to stand with several small mason jars ready for them. In a long row were blue-leafed bushes. Above them was a clear skylight in the center of the green panes where light from the full moon was beginning to fall.

"Get your jars ready then. When the Moonseeds are revealed in the light, gently slip the bushel into the jar and give it a small tap. The seeds will drop right in. Be careful not to disturb the rest of the plant or the seeds will spill and break open releasing noxious fumes."

The very moment moonbeams landed on the bush in front of Harry, two strands of electric blue, crescent-shaped objects appeared. Carefully, he did as Professor Sprout indicated without dropping a single, fingernail-sized seed. He quickly went down the line of bushes. As soon as his jars were filled to the neck, he grabbed two more. He met Malfoy at the end. They each had four jars filled with glowing seeds without either of them having dropped a seed.

"The zenith of the full moon approaches. Hurry now," the professor said, gesturing them towards a window box of ordinary looking herbs with bluish flowers.

"Now, we only have a minute to clear out this box. You each will take a bundle like so," and here she took a great handful of the herbs, "And you snip them off at the very base of the stalks." She released her hold on the plants and pointed at a long strand of roughly woven, hemp that stretched from one end of the table to the other, "Place the bundle against each hoop and the rope will tie itself. Any questions?"

"I've harvested Monkshood before, professor," Malfoy said airily.

"Very well then, I expect that you won't make any mistakes." Professor Sprout turned her face towards the full moon. "Get your first handful ready, yes, very good and take up a pair of clippers… when I tell you to stop, leave the rest. They'll be harvested on the next full moon. And, go!"

Harry very quickly snipped the herb stalks and placed it on the rope which tied the stalks just like Professor Sprout had said.

"Potter, take my bundles over for me," Malfoy said over his shoulder as he very quickly made short work of the rows of aconite in the window box. Harry grabbed two bundles at a time and couldn't keep up.

Not moments later, Professor Sprout called time and Malfoy stopped. He'd finished three window boxes all by himself and now helped Harry carry the bundles over the rope strand.

"Very good work, boys," their professor said after they had finished. Then she waved her wand over the rope. It floated into the air and flipped so the flowers pointed towards the ground, while the rope headed into an adjacent room. "Now, for the last bit." She gestured for them to follow her into another greenhouse. The stench was nearly overpowering. In the corner, they saw an enormous pile of crap nearly as tall as they were.

"Sweet Rowena, have mercy," Malfoy uttered with disgusted dismay.

"No swearing," Professor Sprout directed sharply. "And no magic. The plants I'm growing require a very controlled amount of magic in every phase of their development. Quickly now. I haven't got all night."

Harry grabbed a shovel and began heaving loads of fertilizer into the provided wheelbarrow.

Professor Sprout made an irritated noise. "What is it?"

Malfoy hadn't moved an inch. "I can't use even a tiny Repellant Charm?"

"No, no magic whatsoever."

"No galoshes or work aprons?"

"No none of those either. The dragon-hide gloves should be enough."

Harry pushed his full load over to the awaiting tables of dirt and slopped the foul-smelling manure into it, spreading it out.

"Surely you have work that requires more… finesse, professor?"

"Get to work or you'll come tomorrow night to help me harvest Cream of Grin-Lilies."

With a pronounced shudder, Malfoy grabbed a shovel and daintily stuck it in the manure. Harry nearly laughed. "This is disgusting. If my father heard—"

Green sparks suddenly exploded over the Forbidden Forest. Harry stopped to watch, reminded of fireworks.

"What was that?" Malfoy was desperate for an excuse not to sling dragon manure around.

"Every month since October, a unicorn has been found dead in the forest," came Professor Sprout's darkly serious tone.

Harry stared out the windows to the dark edge of the forest, and then a pain suddenly shot through his scar like wildfire. Catching himself before he smeared manure on his forehead, Harry gripped the sides of the wheelbarrow. As soon as he looked at the ground, the pain passed leaving a dull ache in its place. He took in a deep, soft inhalation.

"—Hagrid signaling Dumbledore that he's found another tonight," the professor said.

"Why would anything attack a unicorn?" Harry managed to ask without gritting his teeth as he pushed the full wheelbarrow towards the awaiting nursery bed again.

"Normally, a unicorn is too swift to be attacked," Malfoy answered.

"That's right. Only the Darkest, most dangerous creatures could even manage it, such as Vampires or Inferi," Sprout said sadly. "But I doubt it is either."

"How do you mean?"

"Obviously, she thinks it's the work of Dark wizards," Malfoy said, leaning against his shovel. "Unicorns are slain for their blood. On the black market, Unicorn blood rivals Basilisk venom in terms of expense."

"Why would anyone want Unicorn blood?"

"Taken directly, it can keep you alive even if by any Healer's word you're meant to be dead." Professor Sprout had not turned away from the window. If she had, Harry thought she might scold Malfoy to keep working.

Harry blinked. He'd seen Professor Snape go into the forest when everyone else was inside before… Was he so strapped for money that he would kill a unicorn every month?

"Some believe that You-Know-Who's spirit has clung to life," Malfoy's confident voice trembled at the end.

That caused Professor Sprout to turn around sharply. "Less chinwagging, more shoveling. I'll have you both working until morning if need be."

Some hours later, arms and back sore, clothes soaked with sweat, and reeking of manure, the two boys were released from detention. As soon as they had exited the greenhouse, Malfoy quickly cast a series of spells on the both of them. "Merlin. That was repulsive. I need a long soak after that." Now that they were as freshened up and clean as they would be without a shower, Harry pulled up his left robe sleeve to check his Muggle watch.

"What's that?"

"A wristwatch." He dropped his sleeve.

"What time is it?"

"Four in the morning."

"We shoveled shit for three hours?"

"Seems like it."

Malfoy continued to complain, pausing for a minimal response from Harry as if checking to see that he was still listening. Harry's legs ached when they stopped in front of the Thin Woman.

"Pedigree," Malfoy told her, and then said to Harry for the hundredth time, "That detention was completely uncalled for. He could have assigned us anything and instead he sends us to the most degrading task imaginable." In the light streaming from the common room, the Slytherin took one look at Harry's forehead and inhaled sharply. "What's wrong with your scar?"

"Nothing's wrong—"

Somebody cleared his throat in front of them.

"Oh, good," Malfoy said under his breath.

Professor Snape looked at the two of them with an upraised brow. "Judging by your smell, Pomona had you shovel dragon dung."

"Very perceptive, godfather," Malfoy drawled, "We did our time. I would like to turn your attention to Potter's bleeding scar."

Professor Snape's attention shot to Harry, who squirmed.

"Lift your head, Potter."

Harry did as he was told. Professor Snape clinically drew the fringe of his hair up and frowned at it. "I don't like the look of that. Draco, after you wash up, I expect that you go straight to bed."

Malfoy nodded and headed to the dormitory, likely to grab his hygienic supplies.

"Potter, come with me." Professor Snape went up the stairs.

"I—I think I'm okay, sir."

Robes billowed as the professor turned to glower at Harry at the top of the stairs. "It doesn't matter what you think; I believe you need to seek medical attention, so therefore you will."

So an hour or so shy of sunrise, Harry was led down the corridor where the infirmary was. Professor Snape lightly knocked on a door adjoining it. Madam Pomfrey opened the door wearing light blue night robes. "Severus…? What's the matter?"

"Potter's scar is bothering him. It's inflamed and oozing blood."

Madam Pomfrey went to action, opening the door to the infirmary with a wave of her wand. She gestured for them to enter and then for Harry to have a seat on an empty bed. The infirmary was absolutely vacant besides the three of them.

She pulled out her wand and spelled several diagnostics. Soon enough only a single lop-sided, cracked, and blackened red orb was hovering in front of Harry's face.

"Whatever's embedded in his magical core is disrupting the whole system," Madam Pomfrey told Professor Snape, whose neutral expression didn't change. The Healer turned to Harry. "What did you say happened to cause the symptoms, dear?"

"I was doing detention, when I looked out the window towards the Forbidden Forest. That's when it started to hurt and wouldn't stop."

"Has it hurt before? How long ago?"

Harry frowned. "At the start-of-term banquet. It hurt for a moment. Right when Professor Snape looked at me." Professor Snape's expression remained as it was, though Harry could see his eyes were distant as if he were entirely somewhere else. "But he hasn't caused it to hurt since," Harry reassured them.

"Has it ever hurt any other times?"

Harry shook his head. "No, never."

"I suspect because of your exposure to one of the foulest curses your scar resonates with evil. This is only a theory. We can't be sure, since your scar has only done this twice before." Madam Pomfrey conjured up a basin and a clean washcloth and quickly wiped the partially dry blood from Harry's forehead. She bustled over to a cabinet on the wall and pulled out a small container. Opening it, Madam Pomfrey smoothed some cool salve onto Harry's scar. It instantly felt better.

"There we are then." She pressed the salve jar into Harry's hand. "Apply this after you bathe in the morning until the scar goes back to its normal coloring. It can be applied once every six hours."

"Thanks." Harry put it into his pocket.

Professor Snape led the way out.

Halfway to the Slytherin House, Harry thought he should tell his Head of House what else had happened. "Um, sir…"

"What?" The adult stopped when he noticed Harry was no longer following him.

"Before my scar started to hurt, green sparks were shot into the sky because Hagrid had found another dead unicorn." Harry watched the adult for any suspicious signs that he might have had something to do with it. "When I looked away, my scar didn't hurt so badly."

Professor Snape looked thoughtful. "I expect that Granger and Longbottom had quite the eventful evening then."

"Sir?"

"They had detention with Hagrid."

Harry hoped that meant he would get a letter from Hermione. If not, he'd have to send one. "Sir, does the Forbidden Forest usually have a problem with poachers?"

"The centaurs do not take kindly to those who would harm unicorns. Before this year, they've been able to deal with any such criminals for nearly a century."

Harry was surprised that he wasn't shocked that centaurs lived in the Forbidden Forest. "What changed?"

Professor Snape snorted. "Who can say?" The professor began to walk at a breakneck pace again, causing Harry to jog to keep up. "Now, you have exams this coming week. If you have trouble sleeping, there are sleep aids available to help you rest. I expect you to tell me should you need something."

"Yes, sir."

Gliding down the stairs, they entered the dungeons. Professor Snape said the password, and they entered the common room.

Harry was jittery and wide-awake. "Ah… sir?"

Professor Snape turned giving him a sharp look.

"Is there.. is there something I can take for…" Harry fidgeted. "I drank some Wideye Potion an hour ago, and now I'm wide awake. I think I'd end up pacing if I went to my room now."

The Potions professor nodded. "Wait here."

Awkwardly, Harry did so. It was a short time before the professor reappeared with a small vial in his hand.

"Take this once you've lain down to sleep. Otherwise you'll end up sleeping on the floor."

"Thank you, sir." Harry took it. He headed to the communal bathrooms first and took a searing hot shower. Since no one else was awake yet, he re-entered the common room shirtless and quickly went up the dormitory stairs.

Before long, Harry had Switched out his clothes and chucked the rank, ratty socks, pants and Y-fronts to the other side of the room to dispose of them tomorrow. Once he was lying under the bed covers, he popped off the cork and drank the whole vial down at once.

An odd thought popped into his mind quite suddenly. Why would Madam Pomfrey suggest that evil resonated with his scar after hearing that a glance from Professor Snape had caused it to hurt at the start-of-term banquet?

Harry had only shoved the empty vial under his pillow before sleep dragged him down into heavy slumber, forgetting his prior thoughts in an instant.


	14. Exams and Trials

_**Author's Notes: **It is quite interesting how much hasn't changed in Slytherin!Harry's first year. Also, I apologize if there are any grammar problems or missing words. I sometimes don't see it until after I've published a chapter. Rest assured, I correct those as soon as I do.  
_

* * *

Despite the salve Madam Pomfrey had given him, Harry had stabbing pains ever since the late-night detention with Professor Sprout. He did the best he could on his written exams in the sweltering hot classroom. They had been given special quills, which had been bewitched with an Anti-Cheating Spell. Wiping his forehead again, Harry wondered why no one had bothered to cast a Cooling Charm on the bloody room. If he'd known the room was going to be so hot, he would have cast a Cooling Charm on his robes first. When he couldn't focus on the exam, he reminded himself that his Glaxxes would be arriving shortly, since he'd been fitted the week prior.

Their Practical Exams had been easy enough. For History of Magic they had to write essays for an hour on inventors and other historical figures. For Charms they had to make a pineapple tap-dance. For Potions they had to brew a Forgetfulness potion with Professor Snape stalking around the room to look disdainfully at each developing potion before moving on. For Defense Against the Dark Arts, they had to demonstrate one offensive spell on the provided dummy; nearly all of them chose the Disarming Charm. Only Malfoy cast a fire spell with 'Incendio!'Professor Quirrell had seemed delighted. He didn't seem possessed... Even Theodore had later voiced his doubts.

After one day of full rest, Harry had felt he didn't need any more potions to stay asleep, even though the nightmare that had started when he first stopped visiting the mirror had come back with a vengeance. This time had been worse because a hooded figure murdered his parents in a flash of green while silver-blue blood dripped down his front. Harry knew this new detail had appeared because Hermione had vividly recounted her harrowing experience in the Forbidden Forest with Neville Longbottom. In her letter to Harry, her descriptions of a hooded figure in the forest drinking the blood of a unicorn had scared him more than he liked to admit. Unfortunately, Hermione didn't make the same connection as Harry; she didn't seem to think that the deranged Dark wizard in the forest was after the Philosopher's Stone even though Harry had told her whoever-it-was could be biding their time until they could steal the stone and make an Elixir of Immortality. She wrote that she'd made assumptions before and wouldn't do so again without direct proof. Harry told himself that an evil, Dark wizard covered in unicorn blood certainly wasn't visiting her dreams and killing her parents, and then he realized he was being silly blaming her for not having the same bad dreams as he did and even sillier that he was even worried about the dreams. It wasn't like they were true; it was just his mind trying to scare him. Hermione was so busy with her studying that she hadn't the time to respond to his other letters.

Finally, their very last exam was the Transfigurations practical. The class had to turn a mouse into a snuffbox. Despite his low energy, Harry focused very clear details about it, making it as elaborate as possible. With a wave of his wand, he had a very nice looking snuff box, not enough to warrant extra points for aesthetics, but it was definitely worth a passing grade.

Harry and his year-mates made it back to the mostly empty common room together and flopped into the chairs.

"Done with our first year!" Theodore whooped. "Finally!"

"No more revising," Crabbe said happily.

"Yeah," Goyle agreed.

"You could look more cheerful, Harry," Sally-Anne said cheekily.

Harry rubbed his forehead in irritation. Instantly, nine sets of eyes were on him.

"Is the salve not working, Potter?" Malfoy asked worriedly.

"It works enough," he burst out irritably.

"Go to Madam Pomfrey again," Parkinson suggested.

"I'm not ill," Harry said. "I think it's a warning… that danger's coming and soon."

Every single one of them held their breath softly. They seemed to trust his instincts when it came to dangerous things.

"As long as Dumbledore's headmaster, we're safe," Sally-Anne said reassuringly.

Harry nodded but he couldn't shake off a lurking feeling that there was something he'd forgotten to do, something important. Then it hit him. It had been very suspicious that a stranger had appeared with dragon egg and just so happened to have found Hagrid. How many people wander around with dragon eggs in their pocket if it's against Wizard Law? Lucky they found Hagrid, indeed! Professor Snape had taught Harry one thing: that if he was uncommonly lucky, then it was no coincidence at all.

Suddenly Harry had a burning desire to write Hagrid asking after what the stranger looked like. He had a terrible feeling that stranger was the very same Dark wizard living out in the forest killing unicorns. What if he'd gotten Hagrid to explain how he got past Fluffy?

"No," Theodore said, interrupting the tense conversation between Parkinson and Malfoy. "I know that look in your eyes, Harry. You are not going anywhere."

Harry was out of his chair, but found his way out of the common room blocked.

Davis and Greengrass crossed their arms. "Potter, sit down."

"I need to—" Harry couldn't tell them. They didn't know anything at all. "I need to go to the Owlery."

"To write to your girlfriend?" Bulstrode sneered.

Harry looked around at his year-mates, trying not to appear as desperate as he felt.

"What is wrong with you?" Parkinson asked.

"You know who's going to steal it, don't you?" Theodore asked dryly.

"Steal what?" Malfoy demanded abruptly.

"No, no I don't. But I think whoever-it-is knows how to get past Fluffy," Harry said in a rush.

"Fluffy?" Eight voices, male and female, said simultaneously.

"Someone has an ironic taste in names," Theodore murmured, running the tip of his finger against the side of his nose.

"Who is Fluffy? And don't change the subject!" Malfoy did not seem pleased that he was not privy to a secret that Harry and Theodore shared.

"A Cerberus. It's the reason why we're not allowed on the third floor," Harry answered. "Theo and I found out about it while we were evading Filch on that night you challenged us to a duel you never intended to show up at, Malfoy."

"How extraordinarily unlucky of you, Potter." Malfoy's eyebrows had raised impishly, while the the other first years, except for Theodore, stared at him.

"How in the world are you still in one piece?!" Sally-Anne exclaimed at Theodore, looking to see that he had all four limbs attached.

"Dumb luck," Theodore admitted. "You'd think his mother drank Felix Felicis all through her pregnancy with him."

"That's illegal. I doubt a couple of noble Gryffindors would have knowingly broken the law," Davis said resolutely.

"James and Lily Potter were the last of the Potters. They were certainly rich enough to afford nine months' of daily potions after inheriting the consolidated Potter fortune. After all, what use is money after you're dead?" Malfoy drawled.

Harry suddenly realized that he was surrounded by people who knew more about his family's history than he did. He wondered what his parents would have thought to see him in Slytherin… Harry shook his head. Now wasn't the time to think about that.

Greengrass said, "You have to admit, if you wanted your bloodline to survive, that would be an ingenious way to do it. Think about it: Harry helped carry a crated baby dragon from Hagrid's cabin to the astronomy tower and didn't get caught! That screams Liquid Luck to me."

Harry shot a look at Malfoy, who looked quite smug.

"Of course, that much Liquid Luck would likely cause a miscarriage," Malfoy said loftily, knowing full well that he was the reason that Harry and Hermione hadn't been caught outright.

Clearing his throat, Harry brought the others' attention back to him. "Look, I've got to get to Headmaster Dumbledore and tell him what I suspect. Who's with me?"

The Slytherins all exchanged glances. Harry felt terribly out of the loop.

"Potter, the headmaster isn't here," Malfoy said. "Didn't you see the official notice that Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, received during our final exam? It means Dumbledore had to go somewhere."

"He's gone?" Harry said frantically, "Now?"

"You think this was done on purpose? That someone is getting past Fluffy as we speak?" Theodore said quietly.

"Yes!" Harry yelled.

"You're mad if you think someone can get past a Cereberus," Parkinson commented. Several of them agreed or nodded.

Right then, Harry noticed that the others had gone silent to look at someone standing behind him.

It was Professor Snape.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.

"Professor Snape, now that the headmaster is gone I think someone's going to steal the You-Know-What that Fluffy is guarding," Harry said confidently.

"You all shouldn't be inside on a day like this," Professor Snape said with an odd, twisted smile. Every single one of the first years, besides Harry, abruptly remembered that they had something to do that required them to leave the common room.

"I'm trying to tell you that—" Harry started.

"My office. Now."

Closing the door behind him, Harry stood stiffly by one of the chairs. "Sir—"

"I will bloody check on the damnable thing, but I doubt anyone could get past… Fluffy," Snape said the name through a sneer. "Regrettably, I won't be able to until this evening, since I have several exams I need to proctor."

Harry wanted to yell in frustration. Instead, he forced himself not to. "Thank you, sir."

As Harry turned to leave, Snape growled threateningly, "Do not investigate this. You will find the consequences of your noncompliance unbearable."

"Yes, sir." Harry inwardly promised not to investigate it any longer.

The professor had already turned to an enormous pile of exams, so Harry let himself out of the stuffy, dark office. The door closed behind him. Pulling his magic cloak out, he looked both ways and then slipped it over his head. He was done investigating; Harry would go protect the Philosopher's Stone by himself if he had to. Invisible, Harry pushed open the portrait, who screamed "PEEVES!", and quickly hurried to the third floor corridor, avoiding students.

On his way, Harry happened to stumble upon Ron and Hermione with their heads together whispering animatedly in an empty corridor.

"We've got to tell Harry that the egg-carrying stranger got Hagrid to tell him about putting Fluffy asleep with music!" Hermione hissed.

"And what's he going to do? As nice as Harry is, I think he's liable to steal the Stone for himself!"

Well, Harry thought glumly. There went asking Hermione for help. For wherever she went, trusty Ron Weasley would now refuse to be left behind. Harry would have to do this on his own. He ran up the stairs and found an abandoned classroom, not far from the forbidden section of the third floor. "Accio flute," he whispered, holding his wand.

Not long after, it came flying towards him. Harry caught it and pocketed it, hoping that it had moved so fast that none of his roommates could follow it. He paused near the ajar door and listened carefully. Stiff, determined footsteps went back and forth along the corridor… It had to be Professor McGonagall. Harry opened the door wider, feeling lucky that the hinges didn't squeak, since Professor McGonagall was just turning the corner to go back downstairs.

Quickly, Harry ran to the door. "Alohomora," he whispered, tapping the wand tip to the door knob. He opened it with a loud creak and pulled it shut behind him.

Fluffy sniffed all three heads in his direction. Then they began to growl, a low rumbling noise that should have scared him but didn't.

Harry put the flute to his mouth and blew. It wasn't really a tune, but from the first note the beast's eyes began to droop. Harry hardly drew any breath as he let his fingers go to the other holes whittled from the flute.

Slowly, the dog's growls ceased—it tottered on its paws and fell to its knees. Then it slumped to the ground, fast asleep.

Harry pulled the cloak off and slipped it into his pocket. He crept towards the big dog as he played a weak note and saw a giant trap door. Harry could feel the dog's hot smelly breath as he approached the three giant heads.

One-handed, Harry yanked the trapdoor open by the ring. The action caused him to play a shrill note and then a long pause as he had to catch his breath. That was enough for the dog to come awake, jaws snapping. Harry jumped through the dark opening without a second thought. The trapdoor slammed shut behind him, his flute tightly fisted in his hand.

Cold, damp air rushed past him as he fell down, down, down and—FLUMP. With a funny, muffled sort of thump he landed on something soft. He sat up and felt around. It sort of felt like a plant. A plant that was trying to wrap snakelike tendrils around his groping hands. Harry tested his feet. There was always a catch. He was lucky enough to not go splat, but unlucky enough to get wrapped up by a plant constrictor. His legs had already been tightly bound in long creepers. In the faint light, Harry could tell it was a dark-colored plant. He also noticed that the more he pulled on his legs, the tighter the plant wound around him. He was finding it hard to breathe.

"This is Devil's Snare, isn't it?" Harry gasped out, even though he was alone. The dark dampness around him should have given it away. He tried to remember what Professor Sprout had taught them, but it wasn't her voice that reminded him how to kill them.

'You burn them. How else?' Malfoy had said to him.

Muttering the Ever-Burning Fire Jinx, fire sprang up all around him, strengthening the jinx when he could actually see the plant better. Almost at once the plant released him as it tried to save itself from the hungry flames.

Harry landed on the hard dirt beneath it and jumped to his feet to get out of the way. Soon enough, the plant had been reduced to soot and ash which came down all at once.

Coughing, Harry had to grope his hands along the walls to find the way out in the soot-choked air. As he walked down the passageway, the floor sloped downward. There was a sound not unlike water dripping somewhere. The smell and the dankness reminded Harry of Gringotts. With a jolt, he wondered if there would be a fully grown dragon down here…

Up ahead there was a soft rustling and clinking sound.

The air seemed clearer so Harry uncovered his mouth and had to block the bright light from his eyes until they adjusted as he stepped into the next room. Once he could see, there was a lot of movement around him. There were jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy wooden door.

Harry crossed the room to try the door out. It was locked. The Unlocking Charm didn't work either.

That's when Harry saw the broom next to the door, hovering there. He grabbed a hold of it and kicked off into the air. The keys suddenly stopped moving.

Harry wasn't sure which one would work, but there was one that was larger than the rest and shinier like it was important. He made to grab for it and suddenly the others began to dive-bomb him. He rolled and dodged, letting them lodge themselves against the wall like metal darts.

With a burst of speed, Harry dove for the key he wanted and with a nasty crunch had crushed one of its wings within his grip. He landed on the ground, letting go of the broom. He testily watched the other keys while the one in his hand squirmed. The keys that had managed to yank themselves out of the walls were flying harmlessly around the room again.

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. He shoved the key into the lock and turned.

The next chamber was so dark he couldn't see anything at all, and then light flooded the room and revealed an astonishing sight.

Harry was standing on the edge of a huge chessboard, behind chessmen, which were all far taller than he was and carved from black stone. Facing them way across the chamber were white pieces, towering chessmen with no faces. Behind them lay a door. After playing so many hours with Gilbert, Harry knew what he had to do. The heavy wooden door slid shut behind him as he stepped forward.

Harry walked up to the bishop, his favorite piece of the game. "Er, do I tell you what to do, or…" He laid a hand on it, and it suddenly sprang to life and walked off the board. Harry supposed that that answered that.

White always played first, Harry remembered.

Soon enough, a white pawn had moved two spaces forward.

Harry's knees were trembling. He wasn't that good at Wizard chess. He didn't want to know what happened if he lost the game.

The first piece to get taken—one of Harry's rooks—had been crushed in two and dragged off the board. There'd been absolutely no mercy, so Harry took a deep breath and ordered his pieces against the white side with everything he had.

Harry sacrificed his queen to take the white queen with a knight, and then Harry checkmated the King as a bishop. The King threw down his crown at Harry's feet. He'd survived with only three pawns, himself as a bishop, and the king left.

He'd won. Merlin, he'd won by the skin of his teeth!

Pumped full of adrenaline, Harry charged the next door and up the next passageway.

The stink of troll made itself fairly evident before Harry even saw it. He put on his invisibility cloak and opened the door. An even bigger troll than the one he met on Halloween night met his sight, but it looked through Harry dumbly and picked its nose. Harry snuck past it without it being any wiser and opened the other door. He shut it behind him with a deep sigh of relief. He'd been afraid that the door might be locked until the troll was knocked out.

Nothing looked very frightening in this room. Just a table of seven differently shaped bottles standing in a line. A doorway ahead of him invited him forward. Harry pushed off the door and suddenly purple fire leaped up behind him a black fire blocked the doorway ahead of him.

He was trapped.

Harry took a deep breath before panic overtook him. He saw a familiar roll of parchment on the table next to the bottles. He unrolled it and read Snape's very familiar handwriting.

He stared at the poetic logical riddle and then at the bottles. He almost wept. If Snape hadn't given him so much bloody extra-curricular work, Harry would have been at a complete loss.

One would send him forward, another would send him back. Two are wine and that left three poison-filled bottles.

"Nasty git. 'Move onward' is a nice way of saying someone's dead. Since the smallest and the largest don't hold poison… And the largest is on the end and won't let me go forward…" Harry picked up the smallest bottle. "Bottom's up." He drank it. It was as if ice had flooded his body. He put the bottle back down.

He wondered if he had chosen wrong, but since he wasn't feeling sick or lightheaded he decided to go through the black flames. He saw the black flames, but couldn't feel them. For a moment, he couldn't see anything other than the swath of dark, dark fire around him. Then he was there, in the other chamber.

No one was in sight.

Harry took several steps down and saw the Mirror of Erised. Something inside of him leapt for joy. He crouched down in front of it. "Mom? Dad?"

They waved excitedly for him.

"I made it through! Do you know where I can find the Stone?"

His parents looked at once another and then produced a bright red stone within their hands. They handed it to Harry's reflection who grinned broadly and stuck it in his pocket. Harry jumped when he felt the weight of something drop into his pocket. "Thanks. Do you know a shortcut out of this place?"

James Potter stepped onto a circle drawn onto the floor and then disappeared. He reappeared a moment later. Harry looked at the floor and saw that there were no circles. "How did you disappear like that?"

They were mouthing something, but Harry had no idea what they were saying.

"Harry… Potter," a voice hissed out furiously.

Harry spun around, not recognizing the demented voice.

It was Professor Quirrell!

"You… you're a supporter of Voldemort!?"

"Yes, me," he said calmly, "I'd wondered whether I'd be meeting you here."

"But you jinxed my broom? You were the one drinking unicorn bloo—"

"How would p-p-poor, st-stuttering, P-Professor Quirrell do such a thing? Quite easily. Now that I have you here all on your lonesome… Sit tight while I solve this last puzzle." Quirrell stepped down to the Mirror. "Oh, and nice work on the Devil's Snare."

Quirrell snapped his fingers, and ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Harry. "Now, I'm sure you're wondering how I could have passed through the Wards on Hogwarts castle, while possessed of an evil soul…"

Theodore had been right. The teacher had been possessed; he'd been talking to whatever had possessed him. Who had possessed the adult? Surely not—

"My turban is heavily enchanted you see, so the new protective spells that the headmaster placed didn't bother me a bit."

Harry could hardly believe it. Is that why he had kept having horrid dreams about Quirrell's turban smothering him? Why hadn't he taken Theodore more seriously when he said the adult was likely possessed? Harry really should have.

Turning away from Harry, the purple-turbaned man hmm-ed and hummed at the Mirror. "I see it. I see I'm drinking the Elixir of Life…. But where is it?" He pulled out his wand and tapped his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this… but he's in London… I'll be far away by the time he gets back…"

Harry did not want Quirrell's attention on him since he already had what the man was looking for. Instead he looked at the flat, black ropes wrapped around his wrists. Could he break out of them?

Quirrell walked around the mirror inspecting it and then came back around to stare hungrily at his reflection. Harry could not see the adult's professed desire to drink the elixir that would make him live forever.

"I see the Stone… I'm presenting it to my master… but where is it?" He cursed under his breath. "I don't understand… is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

Harry swallowed. He wished he'd grabbed his wand when he had the chance. Then he could have applied the counter-curse to these ropes!

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

And to Harry's horror, a voice answered, and the very same he'd heard before when the adult arrived. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck rose when he realized the voice came from Quirrell's turban.

"Use the boy… Use the boy…"

Quirrell rounded on Harry.

"Yes—Potter—come here."

The skinny adult clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Harry did as he was instructed trying not to gag from the smell emanating from Quirrell's turban. Harry's parents stood proudly next to him as Harry stuck his hand near his wand. "My parents. They're alive and well."

Quirrell cursed. "Useless brat! Get out of the way!" he said.

Harry quickly moved aside, evading Quirrell's sweeping arm. He saw his chance and muttered a Jumping Charm. He took a running leap to take the entire length of stairs and found himself bound up again by rope. His wand clattered uselessly on the ground.

"You are not to leave, boy."

"Let me speak to him… face-to-face…" The high voice spoke again.

"Master, you are not strong enough!"

"I have strength enough… for this…"

Obediently, Quirrell slowly unwrapped the turban, and Harry could do nothing but watch in dawning horror and grotesque fascination. The back of Quirrell's head was a face. It was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils.

"Harry… Potter…" The face of pure evil whispered out. "See what I have become?"

"You're in a really pathetic state, aren't you?" Harry said without a tremble in his voice. He didn't know where his cool composure had come from speaking cheekily at his parents' murderer—Who else could it be?—like that. Harry rather thought that he was about to die messily when the sickly face contorted.

"Yessss, I am… in a pathetic… state… but once I have… the Elixir of Life… I will create a body… of my own... And then… I shall ask you… to join forces… with me…"

Voldemort, Harry decided, was completely insane. What business did this thing have in asking Harry to betray everyone and everything he cared about? "NEVER!" He spat out.

"There are many… fates worse than… dying, Harry..." Voldemort's red eyes pierced through Harry's.

Harry inwardly smirked. Voldemort couldn't win because he'd never find out that Harry already had in his possession the Philosopher's Stone…

"HE HAS THE STONE!" The face screamed out furiously.

Fear jolted through Harry. That—How had the evil wizard found out?

Quirrell swung around and waved his wand at the ropes so they wouldn't block access to Harry's robes. Quirrell pulled up the sleeves of his robe checking for secret pockets. Then his hand brushed Harry's skin.

Harry thought his head was about to split in half, when a needle-sharp pain seared across his scar. Half-blinded, he yelled out. To his surprise, Quirrell let go of him, and the ropes dropped him like a sack of bricks. The pain in Harry's head lessened enough, so he looked around. Quirrell was hunched over in obvious pain.

Harry scrambled up the steps towards the black flames.

"TAKE IT! Seize him! SEIZE HIM!" screeched the high-pitched voice of Voldemort.

Quirrell lunged for him, and Harry was pinned, but as soon as the man's hands wrapped around Harry's neck—his scar blinded him with pain, yet he could hear Quirrell howling in equal agony, "Master, I cannot hold him—my hands—my hands!"

Once the pain receded, Harry blinked blurrily upward, catching sight of the burned and blistering fingers.

"Then kill him!" Voldemort screeched.

Quirrell raised his wand to perform a deadly curse, but Harry grabbed his face. Excruciating pain stabbed through Harry's scar, straight through his forehead. He knew his scar must be bleeding again.

"ARRRGH!"

Quirrell quickly pulled away from him, crawling on his hands and knees. His face was blistered where Harry had touched him. Quirrell's wand came up threateningly.

Harry didn't want to die without a fight. He got up unsteadily and tripped on his robes on top of Quirrell, grabbing whatever bare skin he could and hanging on tightly.

Screaming, Quirrell tried to throw Harry off—the pain in Harry's head was building—he could no longer see. The adult was shrieking and Voldemort was yelling "KILL HIM!" over and over again.

The arm he'd latched onto was wrenched from his grasp, and Harry knew that death was finally coming for him.

And then there were other voices—maybe there was just one and none of them existed at all—crying out "Harry!"

He let himself fall to a place where he wouldn't be aware of his death, just as a loud CRACK like a shotgun went off.


	15. The Leavetaking Feast

_**Author's Notes: **One chapter left after this. I want to thank everyone who's followed, favorited, or reviewed this fanfic so far. I intend to continue following Slytherin!Harry with other fanfics. I was thinking of changing the title to include Lionsnake Chronicles I: Harry and the Viper's Chess for clarity.  
_

* * *

Gold was glinting above him, reminding Harry of the thousands of keys flying around the room. No, his mind reasoned, it was a Snitch! Harry started as he flexed his hands to catch the blasted thing, but found his arms were too heavy to lift.

As his vision cleared, Harry realized the gold glint was a pair of glasses… a pair of half-moon glasses that were oddly familiar.

The smiling face of Albus Dumbledore swam into view above him. How strange, Harry thought, to see him far after the time he had wanted to see the old wizard.

"Good afternoon, Harry," the headmaster said.

The last thing Harry remembered… He looked away. "Professor Quirrell… He's dead, isn't he?" Harry said lowly.

"I'm afraid so… but Voldemort is still-at-large… seeking a new vessel to inhabit. Seeking new ways to regain what he had lost."

"Is the Stone alright, sir?"

"The Stone has been destroyed."

"But, what about your friend, Nicolas Flamel?"

"Oh you know about Nicolas?" Professor Dumbledore sounded positively delighted. "You did research things properly, didn't you? Well, Nicolas and I agreed it's all for the best. He and his wife created enough Elixir to set their affairs in order and then yes, they will die."

Even though Harry didn't understand it, he imagined that after living for almost seven hundred years that someone might be okay with dying. "How long have I been in here, sir?"

"Three days, and you have had many, many visitors during your stay." The headmaster gestured towards the table beside the bed that looked like it had a whole sweets stand on it. "Tokens, from your friends and admirers. Naturally, since what happened in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, the whole school knows."

"Why am I alive, sir? I didn't think—I mean… It would have taken time to get to me," Harry said, not intending to sound ungrateful.

"Well as to that, when your friends noticed your disappearance, they informed your Head of House immediately. Professor Snape made it through each of the defenses and pulled Quirrell off of you. He then drew a Runic Pathway to transport you and him to Madam Pomfrey's infirmary. I myself didn't arrive until a few hours later. No sooner had I reached London than it became clear to me that the place I should be was the one I had just left." Professor Dumbledore said quietly, his spirit a bit dampened, "It was a very near thing, Harry. We had all feared you had passed. The effort to fend off Quirrell was nearly too great."

Harry lay there, lost for words. He licked his dry lips. "I thought it was you. Professor Snape's only called me by my first name one time before."

Professor Dumbledore hummed and then smiled wisely at the ceiling as if he knew a little secret.

Which reminded Harry that there were about a dozen questions floating around in his head, but only half of them he really wanted to ask. "Sir, there are some other things I'd like to know, if you can tell me…"

"I shall endeavor to answer them unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you'll forgive me. I do not wish to lie to you."

"Why did Voldemort ask me to join him?"

The headmaster sighed very deeply. "Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day… put it from your mind for now, Harry. When you are ready, you will know."

Harry hated that non-answer, yet he knew it would do no good to keep asking after it. "Why couldn't Quirrell touch me?"

"Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn't realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you leaves its own mark."

Harry reached up to touch his scar.

"No, not a scar. There is no visible sign… it is in your very skin. When someone loves you so deeply, that will give you protection forever. Quirrell, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good." Professor Dumbledore apparently found something interesting to look at outside the window, while Harry wiped his eyes with the back of his knuckle.

"Why did you send me the cloak?" He finally managed with a slightly altered voice.

"Ah—I thought you might like it." The headmaster's eyes twinkled, "Useful, isn't it? Your father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here. Here you are using it to conserve the dwindling Norwegian Ridgeback population. "

"Er, I didn't use it then." Harry wondered if Professor Dumbledore knew almost everything that happened within Hogwarts. "But I would have, if someone was about to catch us with Norbert."

The headmaster's blue eyes twinkled. "Of course, Harry. What you do with your cloak is your business."

"One final question, sir: How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?"

"I'm glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas. You see, only one who wanted to find the stone—find it but not use it—would be able to get it. My brain surprises me sometimes…. Now, I suggest you make a start on these sweets!"

Professor Dumbledore leaned forward and plucked up a jelly bean. "Ah! Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to stumble upon a vomit-flavored one, and since then I've lost my liking for them—but I think I shall be safe with a nice toffee, don't you?" He popped the golden brown bean into his mouth. He choked a little. "Alas! Ear wax!"

Harry grinned. "Perhaps you shouldn't try again..."

With a sigh, Professor Dumbledore agreed that Harry's suggestion would be the most sensible thing to do and then plucked a green one up. "I wonder if it might be green apple? Lime? Even avocado would not be unwanted." The moment he popped it into his mouth, Harry giggled at the elderly adult's arrested expression.

"Hmm..." The headmaster said chewing thoughtfully, "It seems that my luck has improved."

"What flavor is it, sir?"

"Spinach." Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as Harry sniggered. "Well, Harry, I must be going. Take care not to overexert yourself."

Harry thought it was nearly impossible to exert himself. He could hardly move at all, so it wasn't like he could sneak off…

The school Healer, Madam Pomfrey, was a pleasant enough adult, but Harry soon learned she was very strict.

"Just five minutes," Harry pleaded.

"Absolutely not."

"You let the headmaster in…"

"Well, of course. That is quite different from allowing your friends in. You need rest."

"I am resting. Look, I'm lying down and everything." Harry turned hopeful, slightly watery eyes onto Madam Pomfrey.

"Oh, very well. You may have another visitor for five minutes."

Harry perked up, and then his face fell a little when he saw who had come in.

It was Professor Snape. He glowered at Harry.

"Thank you for saving my life, professor."

"Well, well, a speck of honest gratitude towards me. Not at all the arrogant posturing I expected."

Harry was too tired to bother feeling insulted by that. "Sir, may I ask you a… personal question?"

Professor Snape shifted a little, walking to the other side of his bed. "If I choose not to answer, that is an answer."

"Right." Harry fiddled with the blankets. "You had a problem with my father, right?"

The adult gazed at Harry coolly.

"Right," Harry said disappointed. "I mean, you treat me differently from the other Slytherins. I guess I wanted to know if there was a reason for that..."

"Your father and I were enemies."

"Oh..." And according to Hagrid, Harry was supposed to have looked just like him.

Professor Snape snorted. "I don't treat you differently because of superficial appearances. Unlike your father, your particular vein of disobedience fundamentally stems from the desire to protect those who cannot do so themselves, even at great personal risk to yourself." The professor's lips thinned. "What I find so objectionable about you is that no eleven-year-old should feel the moral obligation to jump headlong into danger. Any difference of treatment could be alleviated if you desisted at playing grown-up."

In other words, if Harry stopped doing the right thing, they would get along. Knowing that was impossible for Harry, he opted for a change of topic. "How did the Gryffindor's Quidditch match go?"

A look of pleasure curled onto Professor Snape's lips. "Perhaps that question is better directed toward your housemates."

Harry didn't need to. The House of Lions had lost and badly or his Head of House would not be smirking like that.

Madam Pomfrey bustled over and cleared her throat.

"Rest, Potter. I've convinced Professor Dumbledore to let you attend the Leavetaking feast tomorrow." Before Harry could respond, his Head of House turned away from the bed and stalked out, robes billowing out behind him as usual.

The Healer looked him over. "Do you need a sleep aid, dear?"

After two visitors, Harry really did feel worn-down. Yawning, he rolled his head to the side. "I think… I'll…" He drifted off before he could finish.

And dream he did, though it was very strange. Money was counted in bowls, not pence and pounds. Everywhere Harry looked he could see people carrying them. The larger the bowl, oddly enough, the less it was worth.

Harry found he could carry his change better if he kept it on his head like a pith helmet, though it hung over his eyes. He even had a money pouch full of penny-sized gold bowls, and each was worth thousands of pounds.

He was walking home at night, when a man's voice roared out, "STEP ASIDE."

The voice reverberated inside the bowl and caused Harry's ears to ring.

It hurt, and Harry found he couldn't wrench the bowl off his head.

"Not Harry!" A woman's voice sobbed out.

"Avada Kedavra!" There was a flash of green light.

Harry couldn't see anything, but he knew someone had died. He continued to try to pry the bowl off of his head, even though he knew it was too late. The bowl came away, and Harry sucked down a cold breath of air as a white-faced, slit-eyed Voldemort turned to him. "Avada—"

Madam Pomfrey's hand shook him awake.

Harry blinked, realizing he'd been crying in his sleep. If not for Madam Pomfrey's lamp, the infirmary would have been completely dark without even a hint of moonlight coming through the windows. Harry clutched the covers tightly.

"Oh, poor dear. You were having a nasty dream. Here. Drink. Rest." An open vial was pressed to his lips. Harry recognized the smell as the very same potion that Professor Snape had given him after he'd taken Wideye potion in the middle of the night and swallowed.

All became black.

It was after Harry woke up that he felt nearly normal. He could even sit up on his own and rub the grit from his eyes. Madam Pomfrey must have noticed how stiffly he was moving and gave him another vial of potion. This time it was disgusting. At least, his muscles and joints stopped aching.

"You have another visitor," the Healer said with a sniff as if it was risky business sending someone in to talk to a recovering patient. Harry could hardly fault her. He had nearly died.

"Oh? Who is it?" Harry inquired, hoping it was one of his friends.

Hagrid sidled through the door to the corridor as Harry spoke. As usual when the man was indoors, Hagrid looked too big to be allowed. He sat down on the empty bed beside Harry's, took one look at him, and burst into uncontrollable tears.

"It's—all-my—ruddy—fault!" he sobbed into his hands. "I told the evil bastard how ter get past Fluffy! I told him! It was the only thing he didn't know, an' I told him! Yeh almost died 'Arry! All fer a measly dragon egg! I'll never drink again! I should be chucked out an' made ter live like a Muggle!" Hagrid grabbed something from one of his great pockets and yanked it out. It was a dirty handkerchief. He blew his nose into it loudly.

"Hagrid!" Harry was alarmed to see the tears of remorse sliding down the man's beard. "Don't blame yourself! Quirrell would've found out about it someway else—and this is Voldemort we're talking about. He'd do anything to get a body back to do evil things!"

"Yeh could've died!" Hagrid sobbed. "An' don' say that name!"

"VOLDEMORT. I can bloody well say it since he tried to kill me. Again!" Harry bellowed.

Poor Hagrid was so shocked that he stopped crying.

Madam Pomfrey immediately descended. "Hagrid," she said in warning, looking Harry over to see if he was hurting.

Hagrid turned his big watery eyes to the Hogwarts Healer. "S'rry."

"I'm fine, Madam Pomfrey." Harry took a deep breath and said more gently to Hagrid, "I've met him, I'm calling him by his name, and I won't stop."

She sniffed as if saying that she disliked the conversation and gave Harry disapproving look.

"Cheer up, Hagrid," Harry continued, "Nobody can use the Stone now." Looking over at Madam Pomfrey, he reached over to the very neat pile of candy boxes beside the bed. "Here. Have a Chocolate Frog. I've got loads."

Seeing that Harry was no longer continuing a conversation of a dark subject, Madam Pomfrey stepped away.

Hagrid blew his nose one last time and wiped before shoving the rag back into his moleskin overcoat. "That reminds me. I've got yeh a present."

"Please, no more homemade cakes," Harry said with feigned anxiety.

At last, Hagrid chuckled weakly. "Nah. Dumbledore gave me the day off yesterday ter fix it. 'Course, he shoulda sacked me instead—anyway, this is fer yeh." Hagrid held out a leather-bound book, similar to what Professor Snape had given to him for Christmas.

Harry dropped the Chocolate Frog into his lap and leaned forward to take the reddish-brown photo album. Inside were innumerable wizard photographs. Smiling and waving at him from every page, his mother and father were doing various things—dancing, mountain climbing, flying brooms—in every photograph.

Harry's eyes filled with tears.

"Sent owls off ter all yer parents' old school friends, askin' fer photos… Prr'fessor Snape told me yeh didn't have any." Hagrid hesitated. "Do yeh like it?"

Words were lost to Harry. He nodded as his throat tickled, and he sniffed loudly.

"Need this?" Hagrid's disgusting rag was thrust in Harry's face.

Harry shook his head as he wiped his face with the backs of his hands. "Thanks, Hagrid," he croaked. His eyes hungrily ate up each image, trying to carve them onto his heart.

Hagrid stood back up, fumbling with the handkerchief. "I'll see yeh at the feast?"

"I won't miss it." Harry was still sniffling, but he smiled brightly.

Convinced that Harry would be alright, the large man accepted the box containing a Chocolate Frog and moseyed out of view. Madam Pomfrey was a comfortable presence now as she bustled around straightening and rearranging things. She'd set up framed curtains so Harry couldn't see the door any longer.

"Do I have to stay here until the feast?" Harry asked her directly, his tears finally dry.

"Professor Dumbledore may have given you special permission to go in your state, but you are not to overexert yourself."

Never mind feasts, Harry thought, she sounded as if walking around and catching up with his friends would be a terrible burden on his body. "So that's a no?"

"That would be a firm no," she agreed.

Harry sighed. He wondered what his friends were doing that none of them had visited him yet.

"Harry?" Sally-Anne's voice came from around the corner.

That was quick, Harry thought with a grin.

"Where is he?" Malfoy complained.

"Probably right behind those blinds right there," came Theodore's voice.

"I wish the décor in here were nicer. It feels like a cave," Parkinson sniffed haughtily.

"Oh come on," Theodore said, "Harry's been unconscious for three days and all you care about is the décor?"

"She has a point," Davis popped up, "The infirmary needs to have an appropriate update. This isn't St. Mungo's."

Goyle and Crabbe chuckled at that. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Ma'm?" Bulstrode's voice said sweetly. "May we kindly visit Harry?"

"You see," Greengrass continued with her own touch of syrupiness, "He's our year-mate. And we've lost sleep worrying about him."

"Only two at a time and only at five minute stretches," Madam Pomfrey ordered crisply.

"Five minutes?" Malfoy said sharply. "Why that's an outrage!"

"If you carry on, I'll throw you out on your ear, dear," Madam Pomfrey said nicely.

Malfoy promptly went quiet. Harry thought it was too funny to imagine Malfoy being kicked out with a tiny flick of Madam Pomfrey's wand. He began to laugh.

"Oh, shut up, Potter!" Malfoy sniped.

It only made Harry laugh harder. He hugged the photo album to his chest. Tears started running down his face. He had friends. For the first time in his life, he had friends. Harry's laughter was abruptly cut short as he wheezed in pain.

"OUT!" Madam Pomfrey's voice rang out. "His health is too delicate to ruin on a social call. Out with you!"

Harry scowled at the wall opposite of him. "Thanks for coming," he said weakly, still out of breath.

Nine pairs of feet shuffled through the door, each person bidding him farewell. Harry smiled. He could plainly hear them muttering under their breath about unfair rules, the statute against abuse, or how Malfoy ruined visitation for the lot of them as they walked down the corridor.

Madam Pomfrey came around the corner, tutting. "Lay back down," she fussed.

Harry heaved a great sigh and did as he was told, clutching the album to his chest.

"Honestly, I've never seen a rowdier bunch of Slytherins." She held cool hands to his face, as if to check his temperature. Her frown deepened. "Oh, dear. You're running a temperature again," she said mostly to herself as she pulled away and plucked a vial from a long, shelved cabinet by her office. She uncorked it and handed it to Harry. "Bottom's up, dear."

Harry drank it. It reminded him of the icy potion he'd taken to pass through the black fire. Madam Pomfrey took it from his hand, setting it on the little table behind her, and reached for the covers to pull them to his chin.

Not fighting her, Harry laid back cradling the photo album and watched her. He had read stories of being tucked in, but he'd never had the chance to experience it for himself. And then the potion seemed to have taken a stronger effect as Harry felt shivers convulse through his fingers and toes and his teeth chattered. He was glad that Madam Pomfrey hadn't taken the album; it was somehow comforting. He felt totally cocooned. Being tucked in was a surprisingly comfortable sensation.

"There's a dear."

Someone cleared their throat. "Excuse me?" Hermione's small voice floated over to them. "Madam Pomfrey?"

Madam Pomfrey patted the covers on Harry lightly as she walked around the blinds. "I'm sorry; Harry is feeling too unwell for visitors."

"Is he receiving correspondence?" Hermione asked hopefully.

There was a pause. "I'll give it to him. You'll be able to see him during the end-of-term feast… if I deem he's stable enough to attend."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," a boy's voice said solemnly.

Harry frowned trying to place it.

"You're very welcome, Neville."

The Gryffindors shuffled out. "It's a shame, really," Hermione said airily.

"You can't honestly have expected him to receive visitors today? Mate's been laid up because of You-Know-Who for three days straight!" Ron the Arse retorted loudly.

"Hagrid said Harry was receiving visitors earlier. It's really too bad that he can't now," Neville said quietly. Harry almost couldn't make out his words.

Whatever else they were saying was lost when Madam Pomfrey startled Harry out of his eavesdropping. "Here, dear. I'll set this on the table." She did just that, pressed a hand to Harry's forehead again, and then patted the duvet on top of him.

"Thanks." He smiled wanly at her, and then she walked around the blinds.

Feeling much better, Harry pushed the covers down, set the album aside, and sat up picking up the letter. Opening the thick envelope, Harry pulled out the several sheets of parchment and read:

_Dear Harry,_

_You were right. I should have trusted your instinct. After all you survived You-Know-Who's attack as a toddler. Who's to say you haven't developed a sixth sense when dealing with him?_

_The whole school's talking about your triumph over You-Know-Who, but no one really knows exactly what went on down there. Other students who didn't like you before are coming around. The Daily Prophet ran an article about the 'hyped' rumors at Hogwarts of You-Know-Who rising. It makes me so mad! You risked your life for us and the rest of the Wizarding World hardly notices!_

_Anyway, I didn't really want to write to you about that whole horrid affair when you're still bedridden, but this is the twelfth time I've tried to write a letter to you. It'll have to stay in._

_Fred and George Weasley were bragging to everyone within earshot how you lent them your broom over Christmas holiday. Is this true? Ron says it is, but I don't know if they're trying to dupe me. It wouldn't be the first time those rotten twins had. I received word from Charlie Weasley that Norbert arrived safe and sound to his destination. That's quite a relief that all our hard work and sacrifice paid off in the end. It makes me feel that I was justified in losing a hundred points. I know it was only fifty, but it was my fault that Neville had gotten pulled into the whole mess. He was only trying to help._

_At any rate, since you kept You-Know-Who from rising, everyone who was sore over the Slytherins winning both the Quidditch Cup and House Cup again were much less sore. The thinking goes that you deserve a reward from keeping the most evil wizard in recent memory where he belonged at great danger to yourself._

_Which brings me to my next point: That was an incredibly brave thing you did getting past Fluffy all on your own._

_And so very, very STUPID! Are you a Slytherin or not? Ron thinks the Sorting Hat made a mistake putting you in that house, but I disagree. Obviously you need to learn some cunning self-preservation, a trait that the Slytherin House prides itself on._

_Speaking of which, Draco Malfoy hasn't called me a Mudblood and hasn't goaded Ron into a frothing rage since you've taken ill. Though I have a feeling it won't last, it's been nice to actually talk to him cordially. Ron thinks I'm nutters to even associate myself with a Malfoy; apparently Draco's father had been tried as a supporter of You-Know-Who back in the day, though he was eventually found not guilty of all charges._

_Now that I mention it, I really should read up on that period of time after his demise, especially the Death Eater trials. That's what the supporters of You-Know-Who called themselves: Death Eaters. Nobody wants to tell me anything about them as it isn't conversation you'd have with polite company. I'll get back to you if I find anything interesting._

_Lastly, the Ministry of Magic issued an official press release about your removal from the Muggle household that raised you. I had no idea that you'd suffered so terribly with your relatives. I'm sorry you didn't feel comfortable enough to tell me. I want to let you know that if there's anything I can do for you, anything at all, don't hesitate to ask. I won't be bothered at all._

_Oh, and that press release made the front page news. Ever since, everyone has been gossiping about which Magical Family you'll be placed with—it's a hot topic at Hogwarts and in all the top Wizarding News sources._

_It just figures that you defeat an evil wizard and that gets only a byline in the Daily Prophet that denies any such thing taking place, while the court judgment of your Muggle relatives makes national headlines._

_I don't think I'll ever understand Wizard culture._

_Best Regards,_

_Hermione Granger_

_P.S. I've included the press release in case you wanted to read it for yourself._

Harry put the parchment down. Like everything Hermione did, her no-nonsense tone clearly spelled out her feelings in her otherwise stiff writing style. He wasn't surprised by the essay-length letter. It was a common size for her after not having written to him for so long.

He flipped the letter over and found the clipping attached to the back with a Stickfast Charm.

'**Harry Potter Mistreated by Muggle Relatives!**' flashed the headline. The subheading beneath it seemed to scream, '**The Shocking Judgment of the Muggle Guardians of the Boy-Who-Lived!**'

Harry read it. The Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, busily assured everyone involved that the matter had been investigated and dealt with swiftly. There was a photo of him mopping his forehead and answering questions at a podium, while flashes of cameras went off in the background.

The Dursleys had been put to trial, found guilty of hundreds of counts mistreatment, and then punished. Their punishment? Their memories of Harry Potter were completely wiped. Psych-Healers alleged that Harry's dull-witted relatives were acting out of self-defense as they believed that Harry had far more power over them than any Magical child could possibly have. The judges on the case believed that any other punishment meted out would only spur the Muggles' hatred and bigotry of wizards and witches even further; something no one wanted.

Harry wasn't sure how he felt about letting the Dursleys just walk away without remembering him. It seemed too kind to his relatives. On the other hand, Harry was very glad to be free of them. Good riddance, he thought darkly. If he'd been forced to continue living with them over the summer, Harry might very well have hurt them.

_"It won't happen again," Fudge told the news reporters, "A survey has been created to test a Muggle's perception of magic. Any who have such an aversion will not be allowed to raise a Magical child, even if they are blood-related. The bill outlining this mandatory psychological evaluation is slated to be passed very soon since the chamber has signaled a unanimous agreement to its dire necessity. No, I don't believe there's ever been a case like this and I sincerely believe there never will be again. Now, if you'll excuse me."_

Harry sighed, refolding the letter and putting it back into its envelope. He set it back on the table and curled up under the duvet feeling chilled again. "Madam Pomfrey? Do you have quill, ink, and parchment?"

She returned with them, tapping the small table next to his bed. Soon, it'd been transfigured into a wooden tray that sat at chest level over Harry. She placed the items on it. "There you are, dear. Don't wear yourself out too much..."

"Thank you, and I'll take a nap when I'm done if I'm tired." He gave her a smile which seemed to ease the Healer. When he warmed up enough, Harry unstoppered the inkwell and penned a response. He told the entire story, from getting past Fluffy all the way to obtaining the Philosopher's Stone. The words spilled out of Harry's quill as he wrote everything down from start to finish with as much detail as he could remember. He could only imagine the gasps of shock the reveal of what was under Quirrell's purple turban would engender. He hardly wanted to remember it himself. He even included the dreams of Quirrell's smothering turban.

As soon as he had finished, Harry realized belatedly that he'd taken up the entire parchment in his retelling. Setting it aside carefully to dry, Harry took up a new sheet of parchment, dipped his quill, and began answering Hermione's explicitly stated and implied questions. He corroborated that, yes, he had 'lent'—in quotes—his broom to the Weasley twins insomuch that they borrowed it after they pushed him into a snowbank.

He wrote that he was glad that the Wizarding World hadn't overblown his second defeat of Voldemort. He admitted that he really didn't want the attention anyway. He explained that Malfoy was rather fond of him, believing they were destined to become best friends or some such thing, and would definitely become an insufferable git again to her once Harry was out of the infirmary.

_He's only nice to you because you're my best friend_, Harry disclosed. _Be careful, Hermione. If he says he wants to be friends, don't offend him by outright refusing him. But don't accept him too readily either. He'll seek out your weaknesses and use them against you to make you do what he wants. It's a trait you'll see in every Slytherin, but Draco Malfoy's got the worst case of it of my year. I think he learned it from his dad. He boasts about how everyone scurries in fear of his father. In fact, Draco Malfoy's the reason that the Ministry even acted on my Muggle relatives._

He thanked her for telling him about the spotlight on his depressing home life, apologized for not thinking to tell her about it, and then tried to reassure her.

_They weren't that terrible_, Harry wrote,_ I was only half-starved and kept locked in a cupboard whenever I performed accidental magic._—which Harry neglected to specify happened entirely too often—_Aunt Petunia took care of me if I took sick and neither my uncle nor aunt beat me_—likely because the adults had been worried that the primary school Harry had gone to would have reported them to the Muggle authorities for abuse. They hadn't known that he could heal injuries overnight. Harry completely left out any mention of Dudley. _Anyway, I'm here, aren't I? Professor Snape said that I need to stay with a blood relative for my own protection. There are no living Potters around, and other than Aunt Petunia and Dudley I have no blood-kin as far as anyone knows. I hope I don't get placed with another horrid family_, he finished with finality. Writing a '_Sincerely_' with great flourish and signing his name right beneath that.

This sheet, too, he set aside.

That had exhausted him more than he'd like. He laid back down against the fluffy pillow and pushed his icy hands under the bed covers. He must have nodded off because when he opened his eyes again, a very late afternoon slant to the sunlight was beaming into the infirmary from behind him to light up the wall directly across from him. Harry looked over, wondering about his letter. What he'd written was still on the transfigured table, but the table was pushed away from his bed. He sat up again feeling much more refreshed. He stood up unsteadily and leaned against the windowsill, where the photo album with his parents' photographs had been placed. It was a bright cheerful day outside.

Carefully, he picked up the parchments, stacking them together, folded them, and packed the awaiting envelope. He neatly wrote Hermione's name on it and set the envelope aside. There was no wax or seal to press into the back.

"Finally well enough to stand?" Madam Pomfrey asked sternly.

Harry smiled when she appeared. "Yes. I'm sorry for troubling you."

She rolled her eyes heavenward. "Dear boy, I swore the Hippocratic Oath to heal and protect the injured and infirm. It is with great relish to see that you are alive and well without any life-altering conditions or memory loss."

"Can you… take this to an owl for me? I would do it myself but…"

"It will be delivered," Madam Pomfrey said sharply, likely imagining Harry climbing up entirely too many sets of stairs to reach the Owlery. "Professor McGonagall will hand it to Miss Granger after the feast."

"Thank you. How long do I have before it starts?"

"Not long at all. Before you go, I insist that you undergo another diagnostic evaluation."

Harry grinned broadly at the concerned Healer. She somehow managed to tend to him without being too overbearing. Harry liked her, so he was more than happy to oblige.

She did an exhaustive list of spells that Harry thought might have been excessive, but he didn't complain. By the time he'd been allowed to leave, the sun was down and the feast was underway. Harry walked down the first-floor corridor, highly alert to his surroundings. He had never been bothered by being alone before, but now it made him wary. He could hear the distant rumbling of hundreds of conversations from the Great Hall.

A couple of Ravenclaw girls saw him and squealed running into the Great Hall before Harry entered it.

The hall was resplendent in Harry's house colors of green and silver to celebrate their resounding defeat of the other Houses. A huge banner showing the Slytherin serpent covered the wall behind the High Table.

The Great Hall's occupants hushed themselves to a low murmur when Harry walked in.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, waving her hand excitedly, next to Neville whose mouth was agog. If the Muggle-born witch hadn't been separated from him by the sea of curious onlookers, Harry had the mortifying thought that she'd likely have flung her arms around him. He raised a hand to acknowledge her and then slipped into a seat between Malfoy and Theodore at the Slytherin Table. It was very hard to ignore the fact that most of the other students—none of them Slytherin, thank Merlin—were standing to crane their necks at him.

"Welcome back, Harry," Theodore said, clapping a hand to his shoulder proudly. His voice carried in the quiet of the Great Hall.

"Thanks," Harry said softly.

The murmur had risen to a babbling level, still strangely subdued for the Great Hall.

Fortunately, Dumbledore arrived moments later and the conversation died down. "Another year gone!" The headmaster called out cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…"

Harry glanced over at Malfoy who was mysteriously quiet. The blond looked over at him and smirked before turning his attention back to Professor Dumbledore. That was a surprise; Malfoy seemed to actually respect the headmaster now.

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two points; in third, Gryffindor, with three hundred and sixty-two points; in second, Ravenclaw with four hundred and twenty-six points," Professor Dumbledore paused looking over his half-moon glasses at the crowd. Despite Hermione's assertions, the non-Slytherin students looked despondent. "And, in first place, Slytherin, with four hundred and twenty-eight points."

Harry's table suddenly erupted into cheers, stamping, and back thumping. Several of them banged their goblets against the table, sloshing the contents everywhere. Harry only smiled too tired to do anything else. Ravenclaw had very nearly beat them.

"Yes, yes, well done Slytherin," said Professor Dumbledore. With a great clap, he gestured for them to settle down. "Let's enjoy our last feast together, cherish our bonds of friendship, and remember that so long as we believe we can overcome any adversity." With a wink, the headmaster added, "Better luck next year, Gryffindor."

The Slytherin table erupted in hearty laughter. Harry knew Professor McGonagall was too imprudent in taking so many points away from her own House. Harry looked up and saw an entirely pleased Professor Snape speaking with Professor McGonagall who looked as if she'd bitten into something very sour. His Head of House caught his eyes and pursed his lips in barely contained amusement. Harry knew at once that the professor's attitude towards him had changed significantly since the start-of-term feast. He hoped next year at Hogwarts would be much less exciting and more normal—Well, Harry amended, as normal as a School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was.

Despite his fatigue, it was the best evening of Harry's life, better than winning his first Quidditch match or waking up Christmas morning to find a pile of presents to open. Better even than knocking out a mountain troll on Halloween… Harry would never forget tonight and what he'd learned that school term.

His fellow Slytherins must have known Harry wasn't up to much conversation, so they nonverbally acknowledged him through delicate pats on his shoulder rather than engage him with words.

After the great feast was over and they were dismissed, the entire Slytherin House converged around Harry like a human barrier, protecting him from the other students' prying.

"How sad for them to have never been around a celebrity before," Parkinson told her two best friends, Greengrass and Davis behind Harry. Sally-Anne and Bulstrode walked in front of him. They left enough room to keep Harry from feeling too crowded, which was a good thing as he was feeling winded.

"You're looking a bit unsteady, Harry," Theodore said beside him, "Do you need some support?"

Harry wordlessly nodded. Both Theodore and Malfoy took a shoulder and lifted him like he weighed little to nothing.

At the look on Harry's face, Malfoy smirked, "Strengthening Charm."

"Right," Harry murmured as his body swayed with each of their steps.

Meanwhile, Crabbe and Goyle had their wands out and were intercepting bewitched and enchanted notes that flittered, twirled, and flopped in Harry's direction like they were swatting flies.

Just like that, they were back in the common room. Professor Snape was standing in front of the blazing fireplace, his hands tucked into his outer robes. "A superb end to an incredibly taxing school term. Let's hope you can repeat your performance next year. To my seventh years, it has been an honor teaching and mentoring you. You will make fine additions to the Wizarding world," Professor Snape said. "Nott, Malfoy, do take Potter up to his bed. He is reeling and weaving about as though he has been drugged with Poppy Lemox Potion."

"Yes, sir," they said. Harry was jostled as they brought him to the very top of the stairwell. By the time Theodore and Malfoy placed Harry on his bed, they were huffing and puffing.

"Blasted charm wore out," Malfoy panted. Theodore had recovered more quickly and was removing Harry's trainers. Despite being red-faced from exertion, Malfoy helped Theodore take Harry's outer robes off. It required them pushing Harry's arms this way and that and rolling him over. They obviously didn't know how to use a Switching spell.

"Malfoy, I don't know why you haven't started calling me Harry yet," Harry mumbled, hardly caring that his glasses were digging into his cheek.

Malfoy barked out a laugh. "Merlin's balls, you're unbelievable. Still recovering from the Dark Lord's attacks and you're concerned about formality."

Harry frowned. He'd heard Malfoy call Voldemort the 'Dark Lord' once before. It sounded too nice and reverential.

"Harry, when I said you needed to be more polite on the train, I didn't think you'd take my word for it. Please be obliged to use my first name," Draco said with a princely, yet mocking bow.

"You're still an arse, Draco," Harry said offhandedly.

"You remember that favor you owe me for helping you with that troll?" Draco asked.

Theodore rolled him onto his back, so Harry wasn't straining his neck to meet Draco's gaze.

"What about it?" Harry had nearly forgotten about it.

"I'm calling it in," Draco said condescendingly, "Next time you know something earth-shatteringly important like the location of the Philosopher's Stone, do tell us. It was hardly fair of you to make Theodore swear not to tell anyone. Even if you were able to get through the challenges placed down there all on your own, we could have provided you with our collective repertoire of skills and knowledge."

Harry grunted. "Fine, next time an evil wizard possesses someone and tries to steal a powerful Magical Object to grant him a body, I'll let you know. Now are you going to let me sleep or not?"

Theodore took off Harry's glasses and set them on the table.

Draco was holding a blurry, small box, wrapped with a bow. "This arrived a day ago. I'm sure you'll want to open it tomorrow."

"You git. Open it up," Harry demanded.

The blond boy did as asked and out came a pair of glasses that looked identical to the pair Harry already had. The Malfoy Heir tapped it and they turned into a pair of clear wrap-arounds with black trim.

The Glaxxes had finally come in.

Harry grinned. "Put them by my other pair, and shut up so I can sleep."

His bent and scratched pair looked even worse next to the sleek athletic Glaxxes.

Malfoy poked the old pair. "Can't I throw this—"

"No," Harry said firmly.

There came a cluck of disappointment.

"Rest well, Harry. You have that bloodline analysis to do tomorrow," Theodore said cheerfully.

The two of them drew the curtains around Harry's bed, and Harry was plunged into darkness. He fell asleep with hardly any trouble at all.


	16. The Pedigree of Harry James Potter

**_Author's Notes: _**_Here we are at the last chapter. Please note that Harry has not been told that Wizard marks are different from Muggle ones. Oh, and don't miss the extra scene I included after the end, the blurb for the sequel, and the afterword about Harry's genealogy. I won't be updating this story with new chapters just in case you were wondering how I would post the sequel, **Harry and the Captured Pawn**._

__Many thanks for reading!__

__Edit 17-01-2015: Thanks AJ Granger for noticing that I inadvertently left out Mr. and Mrs. Tonks (i.e. Andromeda), who are both hale and hearty at this time in the books.__

* * *

Harry had forgotten that the exam results were to come, but come that morning they did by owl. He hadn't made the top scores among the Slytherin first years; that was a distinction awarded to Sally-Anne and Malfoy, who received special certificates declaring them Outstanding Lodestars. Malfoy said he'd have it framed next to his Quidditch Tyke Team Trophies. Everyone else had said they had an abysmal mark in one of the subjects and a fantastic mark in another. Harry kept checking his sheet again. He'd made straight A's. He tried to remember the last time he'd had such good marks.

Crabbe and Goyle had barely scraped through, but they were delighted. Goyle mentioned that he'd been worried about getting kicked out of Hogwarts for poor grades, though it rarely happened. Harry had had no idea of the pressure there had been on the two boys to pass their tests.

With a flick of their wands, the other Slytherin boys had emptied their wardrobes and packed their trunks. Somewhere along this time, Hedwig flew through the first years' door and landed on Harry's packed trunk. Harry had received a notice to pack up as well and the instructions that he would not be returning to London by the Hogwarts Express.

In the common room, the nine first years were crowded around Harry, who looked much recovered from a dreamless sleep. He'd just finished restocking Hedwig's cage with food and fresh water when she made a screech and hopped onto his shoulder to nip his ear. He hadn't greeted her properly yet.

He lightly brushed her feathers. "Hullo, Hedwig."

With a satisfied air, Hedwig hopped into her cage, taking a sip from her water bottle, as Harry closed the cage door.

"You must come visit me over the summer!" Draco demanded, bringing Harry's attention to what his year-mates were talking about.

"Don't hog him for the whole summer break," Theodore said.

"Yes, don't! Daphne and Tracey will be visiting me right before school starts, and Harry should come see us then," Parkinson said innocently enough, though her tone brooked no argument.

Even Bulstrode looked expectant.

"Well, Crabbe and Goyle will visit me next month. Of course, Harry will stay with me first," Malfoy added.

"Harry, you know that favor you owe me?" Sally-Anne said slyly.

The other eight students looked at her interest piqued.

Harry grinned brazenly, remembering that moment in the library. "Yes, I do."

"You will visit me first, won't you?" Sally-Anne commanded politely.

Harry tried not to suppress his good humor. He'd never been so popular before. "If I can get permission from whoever my new guardians will be, I will," he promised her, though he meant it for all his year-mates.

"I suppose we should schedule his time out in increments. Does one week per person sound reasonable? That way he has time to adjust to his new family and those of us who have multiple friends over get to have Harry stay over longer," Davis piped up.

Harry rubbed his face in exasperation as a heated debate broke out among them about what constituted a week and whether that included full days and would they be going by sunrise to sunrise, sundown to sundown, or some other method of measuring time.

Mercifully, Professor Snape appeared gathering everyone's attention. "Students! I must remind you that if you are underage, you are disallowed from using magic outside of a school setting. I have a note," he said disdainfully, "Should you need a hard-copy to remind you. The Ministry will be monitoring you closely. Multiple infractions will result in expulsion from Hogwarts. Do not give the Ministry cause to break your wand and bring dishonor to your house and your family name." Professor Snape paused and looked at them all. "Have a well-rested summer break. I sincerely hope I see none of you during my vacation."

The Slytherins broke out into riotous laughter.

After numerous farewells towards their professor and Harry, Harry's housemates filtered out in groups, until only he and Professor Snape remained.

"Leave your things here. Someone will collect them later."

"Yes, sir." Harry gave Hedwig a little wave, and she squawked her displeasure that she had to stay longer in her cage and then went back to preening.

As Professor Snape led Harry down the corridor, Harry's stomach fluttered nervously as a new thought occurred to him. A horrid family he could deal with… But what if his new family treated him like a celebrity? Harry certainly hoped that wouldn't be the case.

They entered the Great Hall. The tables had been pushed to the sides and a colossal piece of parchment covered the remaining floor from the double doors Harry had just entered through to below the steps in front of the High Table.

Harry recognized the Minister of Magic speaking with Dumbledore. There were twelve other wizards and witches having heated discussions or directing one another in some action. They had—Harry was startled to see—all of them down to Professor Dumbledore and the Minister had strange bright yellow gauze wrapped around their shoes. There was a pointy-faced man with long platinum blond hair and a cane who stood imperiously next to the Minister, and when his eyes met Harry's gaze he smiled slowly.

It had to be Draco's father. The resemblance was uncanny, though the semblance ended at the deadened look in the adult's cloudy grey eyes. This was someone who knew cruelty; whether because he imparted it or had been on the receiving end of it, Harry wouldn't know until he spoke with him.

"Lift your foot, Potter."

Harry did and Professor Snape tapped Harry's trainer. A piece of neon yellow gauze flung off the table next to him and bound itself to his trainer, nearly knocking Harry over. Without needing to be asked, Harry silently offered his other foot and the process was repeated.

As this occurred, Harry looked about and saw two giant barrels on wheel-less wooden-platforms sitting off to two corners of the room. These platforms both had a long looped handle made of metal sticking from the side of it. Harry thought they resembled floating trolleys.

"Well, well! If it isn't Harry Potter himself!" The jovial Minister said abandoning the two powerful wizards next to him. He pressed his hands together. "It is very good to have you here, Harry. How are you this fine day?"

"Alright…" Harry wasn't sure what it was about this man that he didn't like.

"Good, good. My name is Cornelius Fudge. I'm the Minister of Magic. This is Lucius Malfoy. If it weren't for this gentleman, we wouldn't have been able to finance this endeavor."

Draco's father tilted his head in poised acknowledgement.

Minister Fudge cleared his throat, glancing beside him. Without even asking, he wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulder and took his hand in a shake. "Smile, Harry!"

Before Harry could react, a bright light flashed towards him as what he thought was phosphate powder ignited. A puff of purple smoke followed thereafter.

The Minister backed off. "Now, Harry, I'm sure you're very excited to find a proper family. It was appalling what those Muggles did to you. Truly dreadful and unfortunate. If only we'd known about their anti-magic prejudices sooner."

Harry decided not to say a word towards the adult because the Minister of Magic acted just like a new car salesman. Harry loathed car salesmen and their oily way of convincing people that they knew what you liked better than you did. He'd ended up accidentally letting the air out of all the tires of the shiny new cars in a car lot when one had insisted that he absolutely loved being crammed into the backseat with his cousin. That had been the first and last time the Dursleys had ever taken him to buy a new car.

The Minister cleared his throat nervously and clapped his hands together. "Well! There is one very crucial ingredient we need to begin our massive undertaking. Harry, might you extend your hand to Potions Master Snape…?"

Harry turned to the professor and held his hand out to him.

The barrel had been moved to stand nearly as high as Harry's chest. Its lid had been removed and inside roiled a black sludge that at times glistened purple or green.

"Hold still. This will sting," Professor Snape murmured. He pricked Harry's thumb with the tip of a short silver knife and held it over the barrel.

The moment several drops of his blood touched the mega-size potion it glowed gold momentarily and then turned transparent.

Professor Snape pressed a clean bandage to Harry's thumb. From a hook off the edge of the barrel, Professor Snape dipped the ladle into the potion, inspecting it.

"Well?" The Minister said impatiently.

"It is done. Where do you want to have it take root?" came Professor Snape's bored reply.

"Might I recommend the far right corner, Minister?" Professor Dumbledore suggested.

"If you believe that's the place to put it, then that's where it will go."

Three of the awaiting people came forward and pushed the floating wooden platform to where the headmaster specified. Then carefully, oh so carefully, they took a ladleful and carefully poured it. At first nothing happened.

Harry stepped closer to see if there'd been any effect, and then ink began to well up to the surface of the parchment tracing out lines that formed names and incoherent doodles that cleared into portraits. At the very bottom was Harry. His portrait was very animated, his green eyes were flashing mischievously over a broad grin. He couldn't seem to sit still in the picture as he looked this way and that as if he had half a mind to try to climb out of the frame. Harry thought it was some odd doppelganger because he hardly thought he was that fidgety.

Bold lines connected him to his parents, but unlike Harry's miniature portrait his parent's portraits were stiff like Muggle photos.

The barrel was re-angled and then a spigot was opened. It poured onto Harry's portrait and suddenly the lines rushed out from his father like an overactive spider weaving a web.

The awaiting wizards and witches converged onto the dizzying amount of revealed portraits, floating quills and parchment following them.

A portrait of a man with black, straggly hair and slightly crazed black eyes appeared next to Harry's portrait. The adult didn't move, save for his sad eyes which twitched in a guilty manner from the portrait of Harry's dad to his mum to Harry and back to his dad. Below this man, read Sirius Black, Godfather.

"Why was I put with the Dursleys if I've got a godfather, professor?"

Professor Snape looked down at Harry with an unreadable expression. "Sirius Black is in Azkaban."

Harry knew Azkaban from the scrolls Snape had assigned him. It was a prison made for magical criminals guarded by grim Dark creatures called Dementors. Shivering, Harry followed the curvy thick line leading upward and out. The names always showed first followed by the portraits, most of which were still as death and darkened. But then bright green backgrounds began to appear behind some portraits towards the middle and right far edge of the immense sheet of parchment.

"Why are some green?" Harry asked.

"Denotes either Squibs or Muggles," Lucius Malfoy responded coolly.

Harry followed his family tree up, curious of the names. He recognized many of the portraits from the Mirror of Erised. As he moved towards the middle, he noticed that the names no longer ended with Potter.

"What about these two?" Harry asked, pointing out a wild-eyed, wild-haired witch who appeared to be screaming excitedly. Her name was Bellatrix Lestrange née Black she was married to a stringy, black-haired wizard named Rodolphous Lestrange. They were both moving in their portraits and had a stringy, nervous-looking son named Pike Lestrange.

"Also in Azkaban," Professor Snape answered.

Harry frowned, wondering what that meant for their son. So either his family members were dead or were bad guys or orphans… His eyes traveled over the other living portraits of non-Potter names… There was a middle-aged Weasley née Prewett witch, who was Harry's great uncle's daughter. Below the portrait of an older witch and wizard was a youthful Tonks witch, who was a niece to Bellatrix Lestrange—and… "I'm related to Draco?" Harry couldn't believe what he was seeing. There was Draco's face smirking contemptuously from his animated portrait. Above him, Lucius Malfoy was quietly smug in his poise.

Harry's relation was through Draco's mother who was a great-niece to his great-grandmother, Dorea Potter née Black. Narcissa Malfoy had even paler blond hair and sharp cold eyes. If Harry hadn't read the letter Narcissa Malfoy née Black had sent to Draco, he wouldn't have believed she was capable of warmth.

Two of Draco's grandparents were alive, his paternal grandmother—Isabella Malfoy née Burke—and maternal grandfather, Cygnus Black, and Draco had a living aunt and uncle on his mother's side, the very same Lestranges who were imprisoned in Azkaban. Harry noticed a dashed line coming from the son of the Lestranges to connect to the line that Draco's portrait resided on. Draco's father didn't have any siblings or any other heirs.

"That's why you're paying for all this. You don't have any other sons," Harry said.

"On the contrary," here Draco's father pointed at the line connecting Pike Lestrange to the Malfoys with his cane, "I adopted my nephew and raised him alongside my only son."

The thought of being adopted by the Malfoys had never factored into Harry's mind until then. Harry absolutely hated the idea.

"Minister Fudge," Mr. Malfoy announced loftily, "I formally pledge my household to be assessed by the Office of Ward-ships and Guardians of Underage Wizards."

"The blood kinship isn't close enough," Professor Dumbledore said matter-of-factly.

A slight sneer twisted on Lucius Malfoy's face before he covered it up. "My wife is Harry's second cousin, once-removed. The Blood Wards will hold."

Harry almost asked why no one suggested Molly Weasley née Prewett. Maybe it was because she already had enough children to look after... Harry didn't suggest her mainly because Ron Weasley didn't seem like a better pick over Draco. They were both arrogant, prejudiced toerags.

"Perhaps the Minister would like to analyze Mr. Potter's maternal lineage?" Professor Dumbledore suggested calmly.

Minister Fudge ruminated this, glancing at Mr. Malfoy's confident smile. "I'm sorry, Albus, but the potion simply takes too long to brew and—"

"Minister," Professor Snape said behind them.

Harry knew he'd seen another barrel!

"Of course, I used my own money to ensure that the strongest blood protection can be provided for Harry," the headmaster said.

"I—well," the Minister said clearing his throat after he eyed the barrel, "Since you already have it, might as well use it, eh, Lucius?"

Harry saw that Draco's father looked as if he'd swallowed a bug.

"Potter, your left hand," Professor Snape said curtly.

Harry wondered why he couldn't just re-open the cut on his other thumb. The knife Professor Snape pulled out looked like it was forged gold. After a sharp sting on Harry's left thumb, the potion belched silver light. Harry covered the bandage from his right hand over his left and stepped out of the way.

Professor Snape examined the potion and pushed the floating platform to the far left corner. Harry and the others followed closely. The Potions Master ladled out a tiny portion. Once the three portraits had set, he opened the spigot onto Harry's portrait.

This time a thick line sprang from his mother's lifeless portrait. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Dursley appeared and so did Dudley, their portraits set upon a bright green backdrop. The line kept spreading out traveling up the maternal line. There were distant cousins also bright green, but Harry doubted the Ministry would let another Muggle family take him in. Then after a great swath of lifeless portraits, the family name changed more regularly. Solid British names were written every which way and then the thick line did something unusual. It migrated to the middle and sprouted outward. There was a Trelawney witch, a couple of Lovegoods, and Selwyns, but Harry shared only a very distant ancestor with them.

The family name stabilized to Prince and then Harry watched in fascination as stiff portrait after stiff portrait appeared, filling out the center of the parchment occasionally intermarrying with the Potters. So far, his mother's tree was full of lifeless or green-backed portraits, until lines began to sprout from his mother's mother, Pearl Evans née Prince.

Harry saw an animated portrait of a sour-faced woman. Looking at the dizzying amount of lines connecting her to his family tree, Harry saw that the witch was his great-aunt, a much closer blood-link than the Malfoys'. He looked back to her portrait to see that many more lines had lazily curled from her, since she had remarried several times.

Her name was Augusta Longbottom née Prince! She had a hollow line connected to the deceased Leon Prince. Their daughter, Eileen, married a man with the family name of Snape. Both of their portraits were dark and still.

Harry held his breath as Severus Snape's living portrait appeared and scowled up at him.

He looked up at his professor shyly. However, Professor Snape wasn't looking in his direction; he was staring down Lucius Malfoy.

"I open my household," Professor Snape said with great relish, "for assessment by the Office of Ward-ships and Guardians for Underage Wizards."

"You will most certainly fail, Severus," Mr. Malfoy said casually.

"Not with my suggestion. Being Harry's second cousin means Severus is of closer blood-kin than Narcissa is," Professor Dumbledore interjected cheerfully.

Lucius Malfoy looked at Professor Snape with a calculating eye. "Surely if you wanted to burden yourself with a child, you would have settled down by now," he quipped.

Professor Snape drawled, "Interesting as it was always my perception that you never wanted another child. As I recall, you've mentioned on several occasions that you had no desire for more brats..."

Mr. Malfoy gripped the handle of his cane. For a moment, Harry was afraid the man was about to brain Professor Snape with it. "I hardly believe a former Death Eater would be allowed to parent the very child that brought your master's demise."

Harry's eyes popped open. Professor Snape… a former supporter of Voldemort. After everything Professor Snape had done for him, after being so protective… Harry almost couldn't believe it.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please take up this dispute in court," Minister Fudge interrupted. "I declare this a success! Harry, my boy, you'll soon be placed. Besides Severus and Lucius, there are several other contenders."

"Can't I just pick who I want to be with and be done with it?" Harry said irately.

"Now, now, there's a procedure that must be followed—"

"Oh, because that worked exceedingly well when I was placed as a baby." Harry glared at the Minister of Magic, who grew flustered. "I confess that I don't want to be placed with someone I don't know."

Out of the corner of his eyes, Lucius Malfoy appeared to look self-assured once more.

"That's why I want Professor Snape to be my Guardian."

"All in due time, my boy. I'm sure the courts will take that into consideration."

Before Harry could clearly tell them he was not staying with Lucius Malfoy, the headmaster came to his side. "Come along, Harry."

Harry didn't want to, but one look from Professor Snape told him that he better keep his mouth shut and his head down.

Once they had gone into the outside corridor, the headmaster tapped Harry's trainers and his own, and the flaps of yellow gauze floated back into the other room.

"Sir… They won't make me stay with Mr. Malfoy... will they?"

"I highly doubt that, now that it's been discovered that there are three potential guardians who are closer kin than a Malfoy."

"But he can influence the Ministry!" Harry said heatedly keeping his voice low.

"That may be, but he has minimal influence in the Wizengamot, the wizard courts which will decide where you will be placed."

"How long will it take?"

"It should take no more than a week or two, less than a month. Until a majority ruling is made, you will lodge at Hogwarts with me."

They were heading some place Harry had never bothered to go before. When they stopped, in front of them was a stone gargoyle; as soon as Professor Dumbledore said, "Lollipops", the statue hopped aside. "Your possessions are already waiting for you in your new rooms." Following the headmaster's lead, Harry stepped onto the staircase behind the headmaster and immediately the entire thing lifted, turning like a screw, until the entrance they had passed through was blocked by stone.

"This is my personal office," Professor Dumbledore said, gesturing towards the door straight ahead and instead of moving forward he turned sharply to the left.

Soon they passed through another door into a room that looked like a much smaller Slytherin common room. Harry felt instantly at home.

"Dinner will be served in here at six on that table." The headmaster gestured to it, which sat beneath a large portrait of a man leaning against a peach, who waved at Harry. "I wish I could join you. Alas, I have suddenly found myself swimming in bureaucratic papers and Spellotape a mile wide. I must get a head start."

"Thank you, sir."

"It is little trouble, Harry." And the old wizard left.

Harry looked around his 'rooms'. It was about the size of the Dursleys first floor, without a kitchen. There was the main room with the fireplace and eating area, his bedroom with a large set of windows, and a tidy restroom.

If he had to stay cooped up in here, Harry didn't think he'd last three days. Well, he thought, at least I have the rest of the summer holiday to look forward to without the Dursleys.

Harry hoped that the courts would rule in Professor Snape's favor.

**~*The End*~**

* * *

The Malfoy-Snape confrontation from a different perspective...

Lucius Malfoy looked at Severus Snape with a calculating eye. "Surely if you wanted to burden yourself with a child, you would have settled down by now," he quipped.

Severus drawled, "Interesting, as it was always my perception that you never wanted another child. As I recall, you've mentioned on several occasions that you had no desire for more bratsto watch over..."

The Potions Master knew he had hit a nerve when Lucius tightly gripped his hidden wand. After all, the Dark Lord had tasked Lucius to watch over and provide for any children of those Death Eaters killed or imprisoned, whether those children were pure-blood bastards or Half-Bloods.

"I hardly believe a former Death Eater would be allowed to parent the very child that brought your master's demise," Lucius said with barely contained malice. Amusement lit into Severus at the irony of that statement, but he did not allow it to show.

The doddering Minister of Magic moved between the two wizards, likely alarmed that they might start dueling on the spot. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, please take up this dispute in court," he pleaded, eyes jerking towards the frowning Boy-Who-Lived. "I declare this a success! Harry, my boy, you'll soon be placed. Besides Severus and Lucius, there are several other contenders."

"Can't I just pick who I want to be with and be done with it?" The boy said in an annoyed tone.

"Now, now, there's a procedure that must be followed—"

"Oh, because that worked exceedingly well when I was placed as a baby." At the boy's cheeky defiance, Lucius smirked and Severus scowled. The incompetent Fudge was embarrassingly flustered from the glare of an eleven-year old. "I confess that I don't want to be placed with someone I don't know," the boy continued

Lucius sent a victorious look to Severus that oozed confidence. The older wizard obviously thought that the boy wanted to live with Draco after barely tolerating him all school year. Severus thought that Draco had perhaps relayed a deep confidence of his growing friendship with the Boy-Who-Lived in his weekly letters to Lucius.

"That's why I want Professor Snape to be my Guardian."

Severus smirked at the look of outrage on Lucius' face.

"All in due time, my boy," Fudge said nervously, "I'm sure the courts will take that into consideration."

Before the boy could say anything else, the headmaster steered him towards the door. "Come along, Harry."

The boy looked up hesitantly towards Severus obviously seeking permission. The Potions Master didn't react, and the boy quickly turned away.

"Excuse my rudeness, Minister, but I have need to speak to my son's godfather, privately," Lucius said smoothly.

"Of course, of course."

They walked to the corner of the Great Hall. Severus could feel several variations of Silencing Wards cast nonverbally around them.

"The Boy-Who-Lived trusts you," Lucius said abruptly, sounding amazed. "You. Even after learning about your unsavory history."

"Don't be fooled by his wide-eyed appearance; the boy doesn't fully trust anyone."

"Only fools trust completely," Lucius agreed. "For you to interfere... that meddlesome old fool must have ordered you to take custody of him. You can't possibly want the trouble of rearing a child." When Severus said nothing, Lucius smiled slowly. "Or perhaps you've gotten soft? Perhaps... you've gotten attached—"

"Where you see weakness, I see great opportunity. You've heard the rumors of what took place in the bowels of Hogwarts...?" Severus smiled slowly. "They are true as well you know."

"Ah," the Malfoy Patriarch said through his nose. "So you aim to use the boy as a peace offering... Clever, Severus... and as cold-blooded as ever."

"You didn't set the Wards if you wished to speak only about the boy's future placement."

"No," Lucius agreed. "There is some rubbish that needs to be disposed of, before my manor is… child-proofed. As it is, there is noise pollution and unsolicited post. Narcissa has been… very distressed, of late. I thought perhaps you could do for her what you did for me fifteen years ago."

A dark look shadowed the Potion Master's features. "I see. And what would I receive in return?"

"Time with the boy. We both know even with that fool's machinations you would lose. After all, it was on his recommendation that Potter be placed with his Muggle relatives. That grave mistake will be his undoing." He let out a delicate snort. "No one could have guessed that the Boy-Who-Lived would be Sorted into Slytherin, neglected and abused without any understanding of his in-born talents… I certainly see the appeal of wanting to mold the boy when he simply... radiates raw magical power." The powerful wizard smiled in a meaningful way that set Severus on edge. "The situation reminds me of another stubborn boy who refused to follow the status quo not so long ago..."

Severus said nothing.

Lucius waved his hand flippantly yet gracefully, collapsing the multi-layered Silencing Wards. "I will see you in court, Severus," he said with a classy sneer and then sauntered away in an elegant manner to rejoin his puppet in office.

As luck would have it, Severus had just acquired a large batch of Moonseed Essence… Without another word, he stepped towards the double doors, tapped each of his boots for the fabric to unwind, and left the Great Hall to head directly to his Potions lab in the dungeons.

* * *

**Preview of Harry and the Captured Pawn**

Ominous muttering was closing in all around Harry now, and someone pulled on his robes. "Come on," Draco said near his ear, "Let's go."

Draco steered him towards the exit; Harry noticed how everyone outside of the Slytherin House drew away as if they might catch something. His year-mates closed in around him.

Taking the steps down to the dungeons, Harry's queasiness only intensified. Soon enough, they were in the common room and Harry was pushed into a high-backed chair.

"Did you see their faces!" Theodore crowed.

"Let them simmer on the thought of their hero being a Parselmouth!" Parkinson preened.

Harry pressed his face into his hands as they gloated and sneered with excitement and pleasure at his Parselmouth ability finally being outed. Draco had done this to him. Harry wondered how long he had planned for a public performance of Parseltongue...

* * *

Afterword: So, because Cygnus Black (II) is James and Sirius' great-grandfather that makes James and Sirius second cousins. More AU-ness appears because canon says that Mrs. Evans is a Muggle; My head-canon has changed it so that she was quietly disinherited from the Princes for being a Squib and made to live as a Muggle, making Eileen and Lily first cousins (though the age gap is significant since Mrs. Longbottom's first marriage happened a long time ago when she was barely of age). So, Lily and Severus are first cousins, once removed. Harry and Draco are third cousins. Dorea Potter née Black married Charlus Potter, and their only son (Here I made up the son and his wife and his sister-in-law), Harold Potter married Eveline Prewett, who is sister to Mabel Prewett, whose daughter is Molly Weasley, making Mrs. Weasley Harry's first cousin, once removed. (Which means that James and Molly are first cousins, and Harry and the Weasley children are second cousins. This is interesting because Arthur Weasley and James Potter are first cousins, once removed on the Black side of the family tree) Draco, Harry, and Ron share a common ancestor, Phineas Nigellus Black [the portrait who was also a headmaster of Hogwarts]. Since Mrs. Longbottom is also Neville's grandmother, Harry and Neville are also second cousins.

I hope that clears things up. I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies. Pure-blood families really do have convoluted family trees...


End file.
